O Seeker Still Seeking
by Grace Kay
Summary: The Breach threatens the world, and the only person who can do a thing about it doesn't even know how she got here.
1. Prologue

**O Seeker Still Seeking**

Through the black of the night and tear in the sky

The tongue of the righteous asks questions of why.

The Veil has been rent and the Maker undone.

Bright servant comes seeking the light of the sun.

O Seeker still seeking, your heartache resplendent,

Foregoing your heartbeat in struggle transcendent.

O Seeker still seeking for safe harbor home

One the Maker has marked you have marked for your own.

_"__O Seeker Still Seeking" by Raven Sinead_

_**Prologue**_

The world explodes in glorious green light. She finds herself on the ground; has no memory of why. The world around her is strange, all glimmering stone devoid of color. Everything is green. The air is green. Her breath is green. It comes in hot, humid gasps. Her heart pounds faster than she thinks it has ever beat before.

A pain, hot like coals, slithers from her hand up her arm. She cries out, holding up her arm and gawking. It is made of green light. Her muscles feel weak, like when she's had a fever. How is her arm made of green light?

A sound like a blade sliding on stone; she drops her arm, turning to find some creature bearing down on her. It has many eyes, many legs. It is the stuff of her nightmares. She runs.

Her heart miraculously beats faster, her arms and legs pumping furiously. Never has she run like this. One does not run like this in the forest. It would frighten all the animals, all the game, and besides that, there are too many obstacles. But never before has she been chased by giant spiders the color of the slick, black tar she once saw in a pit, full of animals' bones. She runs so they do not get her. Better for her heart to give out than for those creatures to capture her.

Ahead there is a light. It is different from all else around her. It is gold. It is pure. She knows it is safety. She veers for the cliff between herself and the light, taking a running leap. She has climbed her fair share of cliff faces, sometimes needing to do so in order to get the lay of the land, or to see if it is worth it to find a way to move the entire clan to the cliff top. This cliff is somehow easier _and_ more difficult. She cannot delay, cannot take her time, cannot find the steady rhythm she is accustomed to. She must move as quickly as possible, and trust that she finds the hand- and foot-holds that she needs as she needs them.

The light clarifies. It is… a woman? A hand reaches for her as she runs out of hand-holds, and she launches herself, hand stretched out, reaching, reaching…

The world explodes in green, and pain bites into her face. The last thing she sees before the blackness takes her is the green light of her hand, pulsing, silhouetted against the black stone of a castle.

The air and everything it touches is still inexplicably made of green light. The woman made of pure gold light is gone.

* * *

_A/N: Feel free to skip this if you aren't fond of long author's notes. I seem to be fond of them. Sorry about that._

_Alright folks. I waited as long as I could. I've played DA:I through three times now, I've cemented how I want a few key things to go down, and I've decided how I want to structure this beast of a game so that it's manageable to read. Hell, I've even written an AU based on this universe before having written the damn fic!_

_Here is the first installment of my telling of Inquisiition. It will not span the whole game. The game will be split probably at least into three fics, and I'll likely take a break between each. I apologize for those of you who are fans of my ME fic That Which Matters Most \- for now I lack inspiration on that one. My focus is on this story, and on an original project I'm working on. I'd rather TWMM be good than to try to grit my teeth and make it happen, all while **really** wanting to start **this** one, instead. I'll revisit it later, when this first installment of DA:I is done. Hopefully my muse will start talking to me about Ash and Sam by then._

_For those who want a recap, or for those who don't feel like reading Forbidden Magic first (or who want to know why they **ought** to read FM first), what follows is a synopsis of my retelling of Origins, Forbidden Magic. It is by no means encompassing of the giant, 300+K word monster that is FM. I definitely leave some things, and characters, out of this recap._

_Solona Amell survives her Harrowing, but does not leave the Circle unmarked. They shaved her head and tattooed her face to permanently mark her as an apostate. She befriends Alistair, who becomes as a brother to her, and becomes utterly devoted lovers with Leliana. Wynne and Zevran become intimate and fall in love, and even Alistair and Morrigan find something that looks like affection, even if only for a single night. Morrigan can't give of herself like that, however, and ultimately breaks Alistair's heart._

_Solona discovers over the course of the fic that she has a special connection to the Fade. She is an arcane warrior, and is shown in the Gauntlet that Andraste had a mighty Order of Arcane Warriors as the backbone of her army against Tevinter. Indeed, it was these warriors's strange power that was the impetus behind Tevinter bringing blood magic into the world. Over time, Solona begins to control her magic, learning in Orzammar's Shaperate that she will have truly mastered it when she can spiritually straddle the Veil._

_When they reach Denerim for the Landsmeet, they take Fergus into Howe's estate and find that Howe has been keeping Fergus's sister, Elissa, captive, and was tortured when she would not agree to marry him. Elissa is saved, and she and Alistair marry and **then** fall in love, and become Ferelden's next queen and king. But Morrigan offers Alistair a way to save the sister of his soul, and to save himself for his wife who has lost so much, **and** to restore his fertility so that Ferelden does not find itself without an heir **yet again**. Alistair agrees to the dark ritual, unbeknownst to Solona._

_Atop Fort Drakon, Solona learns that to straddle the Veil is to see the world from all angles in a moment without time. She defeats the archdemon, attempting to bring its soul into the Fade with her. Leliana is fatally wounded, burned beyond recognition by the explosion of the archdemon's body, and is only saved by Wynne, who calls forth her spirit and heals all atop the fort, to her own death. Leliana awakens with her horrid scarring having been burned away, but no longer able to hear a single thing._

_Morrigan saves Elissa from an ogre and then leaves, never to be seen again. Alistair must tell Solona, amongst learning of Leliana's deafness **and** Wynne's death, that he went behind her back and created the tainted child with Morrigan. **That** is why Solona did not find the archdemon's soul in the Fade. They keep it to themselves, a secret even from Leliana._

_The story ends with Leliana and Solona making love for the first time since Leliana lost her hearing. It is a reaffirmation of their love and devotion, and a promise for good things to come._

_DISCLAIMER: All characters and world belongs to Bioware. Except those that are of my creation. Yes, I know that's vague. I'll be fine, I promise._

_Shout-out to my awesome friend and beta, Raven Sinead, who wrote the opening poem for me on a whim and allowed me to use it here, and who continues to allow me to bounce ideas off of her._


	2. The Seeker And The Herald Meet

_A/N: Just a quick note. It may be helpful to give Zanneth's short fic I wrote, The Herald's Beginning, a quick read. It's not long, and it sets her up for things to come. Already, I mention some of those events and people here, in this chapter. If not, then hopefully, as time goes on, you'll know who I'm referencing and such. But it might help you out._

_Also, I'm hoping to make this fic a healthy dose of in-game dialogue and original dialogue. The opening will have a **lot** more in-game dialogue, though. So if that bothers you, just know that I'll move away from that with time. And know that already I'm moving toward original dialogue with this first real chapter._

* * *

**_The Seeker And The Herald Meet_**

The dungeon was not the most glamorous of spaces. Truly, it was more than a little disconcerting that there was a dungeon in the Chantry at all, but given that the previous inhabitants of the village had been verifiably _insane_, it was not truly a surprise.

No, it was mostly disconcerting because Leliana, Left Hand of the Divine and Hero of the Fifth Blight, had been tortured in a dungeon on two separate occasions and they now made her rather uncomfortable. But she could stand it. She was safe here, as much as any person could be safe after what had happened mere days earlier.

Leliana stalked the halls alongside her companion and colleague. She imagined what the _clack_ of their boots might sound like could she hear, but her memory of sounds got fuzzier and fuzzier with time. She had survived the Blight, even coming out of her miraculous healing with her alabaster skin – once horrendously scarred – whole and smooth. But her hearing had not been restored, and it had been ten years since she had heard anything more than the _swish_ of the pumping of her blood in her ears. The world sounded as though her fingers were stuck in her ears, though of course she had long since stopped thinking of it as how the world _sounded_. It merely _was_. She relied on other senses. That was how it must be. She would not squander the gift she had been given – her life – by wishing she had also been given her hearing.

Next to her strode Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine and seventy-eighth in line to the Nevarran throne, though she cared not for the second half of her epitaph. She was tall and dark of hair, her warrior's frame showing every bit of the tension within her. She stalked the halls like she planned to murder someone, which, Leliana noted with a slight quirk of her lips, she just might be planning.

Ahead, the guards opened the heavy wood-and-iron door leading to the cells. They were not occupied, however. Instead, a figure sat hunched over on its knees, hands bound by metal, a full four soldiers standing guard over it. The guards straightened upon their entrance, but Leliana and Cassandra had eyes only for their prisoner.

She was an elf. Her pointed ears were longer than most Leliana had seen, possibly coming past the line of her head. She was young, her visage only marred by the _vallaslin_ upon her face and the line of scabs where the ground had bitten into her cheek. Her hair was dark, though ragged, as though some had burned off. Well, it _had_ been. Over the last two days it had fallen out at alarming rates and was now more than half gone. Perhaps due to the explosion or the Breach?

A pale face snapped up to look at them as they entered. The elf's eyes were dark, her brows furrowed, everything about her expression showing her distrust and her disdain. _This will not end well. Cassandra is in a state, and this member of The People has no respect for us. Oh but that I could hear what Cassandra will ask her…_

Cassandra said something. Leliana did not catch the warrior's lips. The elf made no move to reply, merely staring disdainfully back up at Cassandra. The Right Hand lunged forward, taking the elf's left hand and thrusting it into her own face. The mark upon – _within?_ – the elf's hand flared to life, and the elf grimaced. Clearly, the thing caused the young woman no small amount of discomfort. Perhaps even pain. Could this be used in any way, to force the woman's cooperation?

_Have I turned into a monster? What must this woman be feeling to have this all thrust upon her? Why do I not think of that?_

_You do not have the freedom to let that weigh on your conscience, Leliana. The Divine is dead. The sky is raining demons. We __**need**__ this woman to cooperate, to see if that mark that responds to the expansion of the Breach can do anything to close it. We will force her cooperation if we must._

The young woman was speaking now. "I can't! I don't know what it is!"

Leliana furrowed her brows. Clearly Cassandra had asked of the mark. The elf didn't know. But how? Her face had hit the ground hard enough to leave a scar. Perhaps the traumatic explosion at the Conclave robbed her of her memory?

Cassandra lunged forward again, hands going for the elf's throat, and Leliana acted. "We need her, Cassandra!" she shouted, pushing the warrior away from the elf. She knew her voice likely sounded off to those who heard her, and so rarely spoke when she around anyone but her agents or her colleagues. A spymaster and operator of shadows need not advertise her lack of hearing.

Leliana turned to see the elf speak once more. "I don't understand."

The former bard considered the elf. "Do you remember what happened?" she asked. "Do you remember how this began?"

When the elf looked away to speak, Leliana snapped, "Look at me as you speak."

The elf nearly jumped. Her expression was almost hurt as she answered. "I don't remember! There was… something chasing me, and then… a woman?"

"A _woman_?" Leliana crossed her arms over her chest.

The elf continued. "She reached out to me, but then…" The elf shook her head.

Cassandra came to her side, getting her attention with a hand on her shoulder. "Go to the forward camp, Leliana." The bard eyed her a moment, then the elf, before nodding. "Thank you," the Right Hand added, brown eyes finding her own blue in the dim of the dungeon, "for calming me. I will bring the prisoner to the rift."

Nodding once more, Leliana turned. She would need her weapons – bow, arrows, the long knives she had become accustomed to fighting with – and she would need to inform Josephine and Cullen of what was happening. Then… then they would try to close the Breach.

* * *

The elf didn't quite reach Cassandra's nose in height. She looked odd missing more than half her hair. She had come to them with a full braid of almost black hair, but now… Clearly something traumatic had happened. Cassandra believed her that she didn't remember.

The elf walked with scorn upon her face. She obviously did not appreciate staying bound as she was, but she remained silent. Cassandra did not know what to make of her. Her voice was pleasant enough, what little the Seeker had heard of it. Her face was exotic, the markings a deep red, her lips tattooed to match. It must have been painful.

The mark sang out, sizzling like a fatty piece of meat thrown on a skillet, and the elf grimaced once more.

"Do you have a name?" the Seeker asked, not knowing why.

The elf gave her a sidelong glance but didn't respond. Cassandra let it slide for the moment. She didn't truly care at the moment, anyway.

The elf shied away from the light when the door opened. Given how long she has spent below ground, Cassandra could hardly blame her. Her eyes adjusted quickly, however, and Cassandra watched her face as she took in the great hole in the sky. The look of incredulous wonder that stole over her features made the Seeker doubt. Perhaps this woman was not the guilty party they sought?

"We call it the Breach," Cassandra said, coming around in front of the bound elf. "It is a massive rift into the Fade that grows larger with each passing hour. There are other rifts, but this is the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave."

The elf's brows furrowed, and those large brown eyes snapped to Cassandra's. "An explosion can do _that_?"

"_This_ one did. It is unprecedented. Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the wor-"

There was a flare of green light, a gut-wrenching _boom_, and then an answering, sizzling flare on the elf's left hand. The young woman screamed and fell to her knees, awkwardly holding her left wrist with her right hand. Her expression held shock and hurt, both of the physical and emotional variety. She looked like a lost puppy who didn't know why all these things were happening to it.

It made Cassandra doubt the young woman's guilt.

"Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it _is_ killing you," Cassandra said, kneeling in front of the young woman. "It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time."

"What _exactly_ are you asking of me?"

"We need to test the mark, see if it affects the rifts in any way." She paused, looking the elf in the eye. "We have no other way to stop this chaos."

The elf frowned, her expression growing angry. "You have me bound! You still think I did this, don't you? Why _ask_ me?"

"I do not think you did this intentionally, but _clearly_ something went wrong. You are our only suspect. You wish to prove your innocence? You will cooperate and accompany me. I _ask_ because I do not enjoy forcing _anyone's_ cooperation, though I will do so if I must."

"As though I had a choice…" The elf pursed her lips momentarily before giving a swift nod. "Very well."

Cassandra merely grunted, grabbing the elf by the collar of her leather hunting jacket and lifting her to her feet. "Then let us not delay any further."

They walked, the elf holding her head high, staring down those who looked upon her with disdain in their eyes. Cassandra found her respect for the elf climbing even as she tried to explain the people around her. "They have decided your guilt. They _need_ it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers." They moved out of the village, the elf remaining silent. Cassandra again found herself explaining. "It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together, to talk. Now… they are dead."

Cassandra's heart panged. Galyan was dead. It had been years since they had separated. She could not give him what he needed, and he could not give her what she needed. They needed to be free to do their duty. So one night, several years before, they had made love one last time and parted ways, agreeing not to seek each other out.

Then she had seen him as the mages and templars gathered at the Temple of Sacred Ashes for the Conclave. It had been… cordial. She had been overwhelmed by emotion. But it had been a long time, and he had a new lover, another mage who could be with him always. She had respectfully kept away from him, going to cry privately in her cabin before emerging.

To an explosion. The only reason she had not been at the Conclave as it began had been because she had needed some time to herself after seeing Galyan. And now he and his new lover were dead. As was the Divine, her mentor, her dear friend. They were dead. And the only reason she herself did not join them was because she was busy _crying_ over a man, like a _child_, while those who died did not shy away from the Maker's work.

"We lash out like the sky," Cassandra said, nearly overcome with emotion. But she knew. She knew what Divine Justinia, what the woman Dorothea, would say. "But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. We must seal the Breach. Nothing else matters until that is accomplished."

They were out of the main village now, surrounded by guards. If the elf ran now, she could not harm innocent villagers any longer. Halting their progress, Cassandra stepped in front of the elf, meeting that defiant gaze with her own and wondering at how strong this little elf was. She pulled a dagger from the small of her back and brought it to the rope binding the elf's wrists.

"There _will_ be a trial. A _fair_ trial. I will ensure that. But I can promise no more." She cut the rope, backing away to give the elf her space. "Come. Let us go. It is not far."

"Where are you taking me?" the elf asked immediately, following the Seeker. Cassandra smiled inwardly. Perhaps this little elf understood that their situation was too dire for her to run.

"We must test your mark on something smaller than the Breach. There is a small Fade rift nearby. I will take you to it." She kept walking, and the elf came up alongside her. Cassandra gave her a sidelong glance before trying for a name once more. "Do you have a name?"

The elf looked at her, stony-faced, and nodded. Just once. "What is yours?"

The Seeker frowned, but answered. "I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker and Right Hand of the Divine."

"I do not know what that means, _shem_."

Cassandra faltered for a moment. This young woman… she would know _nothing_ of the Chantry, of the Chant of Light, of Andraste. She probably worshipped the elven Creators. Cassandra knew nothing of these things. Should she ask Leliana? She knew the Left Hand had made friends with a Dalish elf during the Blight, and kept regular contact with the woman. She would likely know more of this elf's culture than Cassandra did.

"I… it is unimportant at the moment. You may call me Cassandra."

The elf nodded. "I am Zanneth, of the Lavellan clan."

The Breach gave a great heave, and the elf screamed once more, falling to her knees before rolling over, cradling her hand like it had been wrenched off of her wrist. Cassandra knelt next to her, putting an arm behind her shoulders and helping her to sit up. She did not know why she was compelled to show any amount of tenderness. Wasn't this the guilty party?

She doubted that more and more. The elf was genuinely confused, and seemed to know nothing of what had happened. It simply… did not feel right. The elf had been unconscious for several days, had had no food or water, had been through an explosion and _physically into the Fade_. If she was keeping up a charade even through all those stressors? Then they were all doomed to fall victim to her trap.

"The pulses are coming faster now," the Seeker said, offering a hand before pulling the elf to her feet. As they continued on the path, she kept talking. The elf's silence was… off-putting. She _must_ make the young woman understand what was at stake. "The larger the Breach grows, the more Fade rifts appear, and the more demons we face."

"How could I have survived a blast that did _that_?" Zanneth asked, eyes on the Breach. Cassandra could see the grotesquely beautiful green light reflected in the elf's large eyes, dancing there as the Breach shifted.

Cassandra grew awed. "They say you stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. You were _in the Fade_. Physically. No one has done that since the Tevinter Magisters unleashed the Blight upon the world." Cassandra did know of one person who could go into the Fade at will, but her physical body stayed put in this world. It was not the same.

"I don't even have magic," the elf scoffed, frowning over at Cassandra. "How is this even possible?"

Cassandra shook her head. "I do not know. They say a woman was behind you. No one knows who she was. She did not accompany you out of the rift." Cassandra paused, looking up toward where she knew the temple stood mere days before. "Everything in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes and the Ashes themselves."

"This temple is where we are headed?" Something was present in those large, brown eyes. Cassandra could not make out what it was. But she recognized its urgency.

"Yes. I suppose you will see soon enough."

"See what, exactly?"

"How much of a miracle it is that you are alive, if it is true that you are innocent of the crimes brought against you."

* * *

_Hyune. Sinna. Relarian. Perhaps they are still alive? If I can get to that temple, do what this shemlen asks of me, I can look for them. Perhaps… Perhaps they were lucky. Why can I not remember anything?_

_You were outside the castle, lethallan. Hyune wanted to hear more, wanted to get closer. You didn't want to. You gave chase when he took off._

_Yes. But what happened after that? I have no memory until the spiders! Was that the Fade? _

Zanneth had no more time to contemplate. A horrid green light burst upon the stone bridge in front of her, breaking it apart. She skidded to a halt, turning and jumping back for solid ground, but it was for naught. She slid backward, tumbling over herself and getting hit by more than a few stones as she fell.

She saw the ground rise up to meet her with just enough time to tuck her shoulder. She rolled, coming to her feet to see Cassandra had done the same. The human had a sword in each hand, and was shouting "stay behind me!" as she ran for a truly monstrous creature now rising from a fissure in the ground filled with the same green light that emanated from the Breach.

The elf cast about, trying to find some way to defend herself. She never learned the art of the blade, having spent her time with her clan hunting and skinning and cooking her kills. If she did take a shot at a _shem_ straying too near their _aravels_, it was with her mother's hunting bow. But if that monstrous creature came near her, she would smash it with a rock if she had to. She _must_ get to the temple. She _must_ try to find her brother, her betrothed, her grandmother's First.

There! Among the ruins of the bridge lay the dead bodies of the few soldiers who had been up there with them. One had a bow in his dead hand, a quiver full to the brim with arrows. Zanneth lunged, yanking the bow free of stiff fingers and ignoring the crack as the dead man's fingers broke. Pulling an arrow directly from his back, she turned, taking careful aim before letting loose. The arrow flew true, taking the creature where its face ought to be. It shrieked, reared, and Cassandra swung, taking its head off completely. The creature melted into the fissure, the light going out, leaving a charred, watery mess behind.

Zanneth nearly jumped in shock when Cassandra immediately turned her swords upon the elf. "Drop your weapon. _Now_!"

* * *

_A/N: Another quick note. If you watched Dawn of the Seeker, you'll know who Galyan is. You'll also recognize Cassandra's fighting style. I've decided that I want her to be a badass who wields two swords rather than a sword and shield warrior, like she is in the anime. I'm sure, like any good fighter, she is skilled in many styles. But I'm going to leave her preferred to be two swords. Because how fucking badass is that?_


	3. The Mountain Path

"We will just have to wait and see what Cassandra and Leliana find out from the prisoner. I simply do not know what will happen now."

"I just wish-" The young, dark-skinned, dark-haired woman cut herself off as a pale-faced, red-headed woman entered the room, shutting the door behind her. The mabari that had been lying on the floor, one old and one in the prime of her youth, now bounded forward, both greeting Leliana with the exuberance of puppies.

"Cassandra is taking the prisoner to the closest rift." Leliana stood up from greeting the dogs, keeping her hand on the eldest's mighty head as she addressed the two other women in the room. "I must gather my people and meet her at the forward camp."

The young woman frowned. "And how fares the prisoner?"

"She is speaking and can walk. That is what we need from her at the moment, Revka."

Revka nodded, the furrow in her brows deepening. Leliana had grown cold, doing dark but necessary deeds over the years. How she was able to compartmentalize it, Revka had a difficult time understanding. But they had known each other a long time, and Leliana had not changed so drastically that she did not spare affection for her, at least when they were in private.

Josephine, the other woman in the room, and Revka's friend and colleague, stepped around her desk, reaching for the former bard. "Maker go with you, Leliana."

"Damn the Maker," Leliana whispered. Revka cringed, Josephine gasped, and the dogs both cocked their heads to the side with a whine. Leliana sighed. "I am sorry. It has been a… difficult few days."

"It's been a difficult few _months_, at the very least," Revka countered, taking the redhead into her arms and giving her a good, solid hug. As they parted, Leliana nodded, her eyes moist. No tears fell, however.

"Thank you, Revka. I find my faith in short supply of late. Thank you for being strong when I cannot."

"She will return to us, Leli," Revka breathed, brows knit in concern. "She will return, and she will have _such_ a story to tell."

Leliana met her eyes for a moment before turning with another nod. Revka knew there were words swirling behind those stormy blue eyes, but Leliana kept them to herself. "I must get my weapons. You two are to stay here and keep the people from rampaging. With luck, we will seal this breach of the Veil before nightfall."

Josephine caught the bard's gaze. "Do you really think we can succeed so soon?"

Leliana paused at the door, considering the former Antivan Ambassador to the Court of Orlais. "No, Josie, I do not. But still we must try." Without another word she was gone, both hounds now at her heels.

"Do we know how fare Cullen and his few recruits?" Josephine asked, her hand on Revka's shoulder.

An image of the dashing, curly-haired, blonde commander came to mind. The last time Revka had seen him, she had lain naked in his bed, clinging to the warmth he left upon the sheets as he pulled a shirt over his head. That had been two days before. He had been in the valley ever since the morning of the explosion.

_Thank the Maker I at least know he is alive, last news came. That is more than Leliana knows of Solona_.

_That is more than __**I**__ know of Solona. Dammit, Sister, where __**are**__ you?!_

"I do not know, Josephine," Revka finally answered, turning with a sigh for her own desk. "But there is plenty of work to be done. Care to join me helping the refugees? I could use a stretch of my legs. And a distraction."

Josephine agreed, and together they left Haven's Chantry to tend to the needs of their charges.

* * *

"If we're going to get through this you need to trust me!"

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. Blast her, the elf was right. She lowered her sword, sighing. "Yes. Alright. I cannot protect you all on my own. I should remember you did not try to run, or to skewer me, but rather helped me."

"Of course," the elf said. _Zanneth. A strange name._ It rolled interestingly off the tongue_._ "This must be done. We must get to the temple. The rest can wait until we accomplish that goal."

Cassandra was… pleasantly surprised. "Yes, that is precisely how I feel. I… am sorry for the rest. It has been a tumultuous two days since the explosion."

The elf, miraculously, nodded, her features softening. "I can only imagine." Lowering her bow, she reached down, unbuckled the dead man's quiver with one swift move, and slung it over her own shoulder. She seemed to consider it a moment, then unhooked the dagger at his belt, a few ties all that was needed to secure it to her own. Looking up, she said, "I'm ready. Let's go."

Cassandra had to hand it to this little elf: she did not flinch. She was very business-like about it all. If she was horrified by the demons, if she was frightened of them or Cassandra, she did not show it. She merely took those weapons, strange to her as they were, and kept going, despite having spent two days unconscious and having a painful, alien magical mark upon her hand. The Seeker could not help but to give Zanneth her grudging respect.

_Is this really the face of the killer of the Divine?_

"Why were you at the Conclave? Surely the Dalish have no care for the goings-on of men?"

Zanneth gave her a sidelong glance. "Surely your mages are human and elvhen both?"

Cassandra was surprised by the answer. "So you were there in support of the mages? You know of this conflict?"

The elf sighed, shaking her head. "Our Keeper asked me and m- she asked me to come find out what was happening here. So that we knew what was going on in the world of men."

"She had no reason other than that?"

"The war between your templars and mages explained increased human activity in our forests. This Conclave, as you call it, was to put an end to that fighting, yes? We wished to know if we might be able to visit sacred grounds of our own that we had not been able to make the pilgrimage to in two years because of the fighting among humans. It has also disrupted the animals' migration, which disrupts our hunting."

It was the most words the elf had yet spoken. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, however.

Cassandra nodded. "I suppose I can understand that."

"Understand or not, it is how things are. Now, demons ahead. Draw your sword, warrior – the bow is the only weapon I have any skill with."

The elf let loose an arrow, and as Cassandra pulled her swords she watched the arrow fly true, taking the demon once more in its face. "The Dalish skill with a bow is not exaggerated, I see. As long as you do not shoot me in the back… I am pleased to have you along in battle."

She did not stay close long enough to hear the elf's response, if there was one. Instead, she ran forward, shouting at the atrocious creatures to get their attention on her and away from the nearly unarmored elf.

* * *

Zanneth's hair kept falling in her face, and she could not figure out why. As they ran up the steps, the sound of fighting in the distance, she ran her fingers through her hair… and came away with a huge chunk of hair in her palm.

"What… what _happened_ to me?!" she asked, horrified.

"We do not know," Cassandra answered, coming close. "You fell unconscious, and after some time, when we moved you, we noticed your hair had started to fall out. I cannot say if it will grow back or not."

Zanneth stared at the lock of hair in her hand for another moment before tossing it aside. Having it in her way would not do. Reaching up, she began tugging at handfuls of hair, pulling it all out with absolutely no pain at all. It was astonishing. When she was done, she looked up at the human woman, knowing full well that she was now completely bald. "It is cold, but at least now it won't get in my way."

The human, previously staring with wide, shocked eyes, smirked. Zanneth found its understatedness familiar, and pleasant. Since when had the human become pleasant? Wasn't the elf her captive? "It is why I myself do not let my hair grow long," the warrior said.

Nodding, Zanneth took up her bow once more. "I hear fighting up ahead."

"Yes, it is the location of the rift I had in mind. We will have demons to fight. But there are others there, as well. You will be able to stay back and pick off your enemies from afar."

Zanneth took a deep breath, steadying herself. She was starving, she was cold – these mountains were covered in snow despite the late summer season – and she still had no memory of what had transpired. But she had to find Hyune, Sinna. She had to find her brother and her lover and her clan's First. She had no other choice. So she breathed, drew an arrow, and addressed her human captor. "Let us do this, then."

Nodding, Cassandra turned, trotting ahead.

Zanneth skidded to a halt on the crest of a hill. Ahead was more sickly green light, hovering impossibly in the air. Her hand sizzled painfully in response as it pulsed, nearly making the elf drop her bow. But she had found that, while it hurt tremendously, it was a pain she could oddly work through, and it became easier and easier with time. Her grip tightened, she breathed, and then the pain, while still present, could be pushed out of the way.

Lifting her bow, Zanneth took aim, sending an arrow into the fray. She noted distantly that there were several human soldiers fighting, as well as a mage who appeared to be an elf and a dwarf with a crossbow. She pushed the information aside just as she pushed the pain in her hand aside, however, pulling another arrow and sending it at the demon now threatening Cassandra.

She watched as the warrior lifted both blades, crossed them in front of her, and pulled them apart. The move took advantage of the creature's distraction, lopping off what passed for its head. Zanneth stood paralyzed for a moment at the very majesty of the sight: the warrior woman's stance, breathing heavily as she held her heavy swords up off the ground; the look of concern on her face as she looked back to Zanneth and nodded her thanks; the strength in the muscles rippling beneath the heavy plate armor that the elf could somehow sense despite not actually _seeing_ any of it. The woman's _aura_ was strength, courage, absolute refined_ nobility_.

The spell was broken when her vision was suddenly filled by a bald elven man. He bore no _vallaslin_ upon his face, and yet something told Zanneth that was not an elf of the cities of men, either. "Quickly!" he yelled, his manner urgent as he grabbed her left wrist. "Before more come through!" His hold was rough, ungentle, as he thrust her hand out toward the sickly green glob in the air before them.

_I am Cassandra's prisoner and still her manner is gentler than this lout_, she found herself thinking.

That was until the greatest pain yet seared its way through her arm. To her astonishment, a light burst forth from her outstretched palm: a soothing warmth that started at her shoulder and raced up her arm to her wrist. At the same time, the rift in the air seemed to latch on to the light, capturing it and seeming to weave itself with the light. A few seconds later, the rift exploded outward, showering them in glowing warmth. The air was clear once more.

Zanneth stared in astonishment at the nothing before her. "Well done. You have closed the rift," the elven man said, no longer holding her wrist. Zanneth looked down at her palm, watching the light dance beneath her skin. Where was it? _What_ was it? Was it in her bones? Her veins? Did it emanate from something buried in there? It didn't feel as though something alien were present, and yet a light shone, shimmering like the sunlight reflected on a stream.

The pain, normally sizzling, tearing, stinging like a wound doused in spirits, had also eased.

"Thank the Maker, it works!" Cassandra came to her side, her swords sheathed. The human's hand landed on her shoulder, and Zanneth found herself being congratulated by her captor. Looking up into the warrior's face, the elf saw her extreme relief.

It made her happy.

And that made her uncomfortable.

Looking to the elven man, she asked, "_How_ could I do that?"

"Whatever opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized it might be able to seal the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake – and it seems I was correct."

"Meaning it could also close the Breach itself?" Cassandra asked, her hand falling away from Zanneth's shoulder. The Dalish elf was somewhat sad for the loss. She was groundless in an ever-shifting, alien world, and somehow the human had become the smallest bit familiar.

She _craved_ familiarity.

The elven man nodded. "Possibly." His grey eyes shifted to Zanneth's. "It seems you hold the key to our salvation."

_The only people I care to save are my own!_ Zanneth pursed her lips. She was tired of this. She was cold, she was hungry, she had a painful bit of magic residing inside of her, and now she was responsible for closing the Breach in the sky? Wasn't she supposed to be guilty of opening the damn thing in the first place?

Before she could voice any of this, a low, rather pleasant, almost musical voice sounded behind her. "And here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever."

Zanneth pivoted around to see the dwarf she'd noticed before. His crossbow was no longer armed, instead folded and slung over his shoulder. His hair was blonde, his shirt open and revealing a startling amount of chest hair, and he barely came up to Zanneth's chin. He moved toward her, hand out as if to take her own. His arms were… very long compared to an elf. "Varric Thethras: joker, storyteller, and occasional – unwelcome – tagalong," he said, throwing a wink at Cassandra.

The warrior looked as though something stank directly beneath her nose.

Zanneth blurted the first absurd thought she had, digging up the information from the lessons her grandmother had given them before they left their clan. "I… thought dwarves didn't have the Chantry…"

The elven man chuckled. "Is that a serious question?"

The dwarf smiled warmly up at Zanneth. "Technically I'm a prisoner," he said, "just like you."

"I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine, Varric. _Clearly_ that is no longer necessary," Cassandra interjected, waving at the man dismissively.

The dwarf merely grinned. "And yet, here I am. Lucky for you, considering present circumstances. Bianca here is itching for the fight waiting for us in the valley," he finished, indicating the crossbow slung over his back.

_He named his crossbow?_

Stepping toward him, Cassandra spoke. "Absolutely not." She huffed, squaring her shoulders. "Your help is appreciated, Varric, but-"

"Have you _been_ in the valley lately, Seeker?" The dwarf gestured in a vague direction, where Zanneth could only guess the valley was. "Your soldiers aren't in control anymore. You _need_ me."

Cassandra pursed her lips before making a disgusted noise and walking away from him.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions," the elven man said, stepping forward with his hand out. "I am pleased to see you still live."

Before Zanneth could reply with her name, or even take the man's hand, the dwarf cut in. "He _means_, 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept'."

Zanneth looked down upon the light again. "'Mark'?"

"It is what we have taken to calling it," Cassandra said, coming close once more.

Zanneth's eyes moved from the warrior to the elf. "You seem to know a great deal about all of this…"

"Solas is an apostate, well-versed in such matters," Cassandra answered for him.

The elf smirked. "Technically, _all_ mages are now apostates, Cassandra." His eyes shifted to Zanneth, and he continued. "My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed soon, we are all doomed, regardless of origin." Turning, he addressed the warrior once more. "Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner is no mage, and I find it difficult to imagine _any_ mage with such power. I have no insight on who could have caused the explosion, but I highly doubt it was this member of The People."

"I know of only one who possesses such powerful control of her magic, but she has been missing these many months," Cassandra said, nodding. "She is not under suspicion. Thank you Solas. Our companion's name is Zanneth. I imagine she would prefer to be addressed as such. Now come. We must meet Lady Nightingale and her people at the forward camp as soon as possible."

_Hyune, Sinna, Relarian. At least Cassandra does not waste time. I must find them. Should I ask after them? No. They would have told me if other elves were found with me. They said I had been in the Fade. I probably fell out again far from where I entered. They could still be in the area. Even… even if they did not survive, I would find their bones and burn them before Mythal._

The thought made her gut clench. She could not lose her brother. She was to wed Sinna when they returned to their clan. The thought filled her with as much dread as excitement, but the dread did not mean she wanted him _dead_.

_I hope this is not the punishment of the Creators for my reticence in our betrothal…_

Swallowing her nervousness, Zanneth nodded, picking up her bow and following after Cassandra. The elven mage and the dwarven archer followed behind her.

* * *

_A/N: For those wondering, Revka is Solona's sister, a complete OC I added to Forbidden Magic whose name I stole from canon as an homage. My plan is for her to have quite the beefed-up role in this fic._


	4. The Wrath of Heaven

_A/N: Alright. After this chapter we're caught up to what I've written. I was going to try to write and keep ahead, but it is way to confusing. Thank you to those who have left a review and liked or favorited this fic! And just as a warning, some changes to canon here. That's not unexpected, right?_

* * *

_**The Wrath Of Heaven**_

Leliana stood, arguing with Chancellor Roderick. The man was insufferable. He insisted they fall back, await Val Royeaux's naming of a new Divine, and _then_ follow her direction on the matter. It was preposterous!

"We do not have time for such an action!" she huffed, frowning up at him from under her cowl of office. "Do you not see the hole in sky? Do you not see it expanding every hour we delay?"

"I see it perfectly clearly," Roderick said.

It was just he and she at the table, as well her two mabari hounds. She would not be arguing with him in this manner if others could hear them. She could not afford to publicize the fact that she was deaf. But Roderick knew, and though he remained insufferable, he also remained understanding, showing her his face as he spoke so she would know what he said.

"Chancellor Roderick, how can you-"

His head swiveled around. She cut herself off, looking for what had stolen his attention. Walking toward them were Cassandra, the elven apostate Solas, Varric… and the Dalish prisoner. The elf now had a bow in her hand, a quiver of arrows on her back, and a knife at her hip. Clearly Cassandra felt she was trustworthy. Or perhaps the Right Hand was merely confident she could put the elf down should she try to run?

The most striking thing about her, however, was that suddenly all her hair was missing. What had happened?

Leliana did not have time to contemplate further, however, as Cassandra and Roderick were already arguing. She could not tell what Roderick was saying, but Cassandra's face was as clear as day. "_You_?! Order _me_?! _You_ are a glorified _clerk_! A _bureaucrat_!" She said those last words as though they were absolutely putrid.

Leliana came around the side of the table so she could see Roderick's lips.

"… who supposedly serves the Chantry!"

"We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor," Leliana cut in, "as you well know."

"Justinia is dead!" The words cut into her like a knife. Leliana glared as Roderick continued. "We must elect a replacement and follow _her_ orders!"

"This again!" Leliana rolled her eyes, turning to Cassandra. "Does it work? Have you sealed any rifts?"

Cassandra nodded. "Yes. She has done so twice now. It is… she is exactly what we need."

"She is not what we _need_!" Roderick exclaimed, his expression showing just how agitated he had become. "She _killed_ everyone we need!" Cassandra moved closer. Leliana did not miss how the Seeker put her own body between the Chancellor and the elf. _Interesting…_

"Call a retreat, Seeker," the Chancellor said, his expression now just… incredibly sad. "Our position here is hopeless. Save what lives we can, please."

Cassandra was as stoic as ever. So sure in herself. She would hate the comparison, but it reminded Leliana so _strongly_ of her own love. _Oh, Solona, where have you gone? Why did your communications stop?_ "We can stop this here, now, before it is too late," the Seeker said. "We need only get to the temple. The prisoner can _close the rifts_, Chancellor. _This_ will save the most lives!"

"Abandon this, Seeker," the Chancellor pleaded once more. "More lives-"

A bright flare of green surrounded them. The elf grimaced, shuddering, her left hand flaring to life and trembling around her bow. Cassandra moved toward her, but the elf held up her other hand, brown eyes riveted upon the mark, responding so to the Breach in the sky.

"We must get to the temple." Leliana echoed Cassandra's words. "We must _try_ to close the Breach. The world will perish if we do not." Her eyes snapped to Cassandra's. "If you go through the mountains, you can slip in while our soldiers draw the demons' attention in the valley."

The Seeker frowned slightly. "We lost communication with a company on that path, Leliana. Something is obviously not right through there."

"They were up there _when_ the explosion happened, Cassandra. I am sure that is why we have not heard from them."

Cassandra opened her mouth to speak, but the elven archer stepped forward, hand muted once more, and spoke. "What are the other options?"

Cassandra sighed. "Our only other option is to storm _with_ the soldiers. It would mean front-line fighting. But it is more direct and therefore the quickest path."

"But not the safest," the elf said decisively. "I have no skill in battle like you. Varric and Solas both fight from afar. We would do no good fighting through a battlefield, if the goal is to get _me_ close to the Breach. We need to move around the main fighting."

Leliana nodded. "You are right. Quite the tactician, for someone who does not battle," she added, eyebrow raised.

The elf shrugged. "It is not so different from hunting. You cannot charge a bear with a knife. You must get the right angle. It takes time. Only when you strike can you be swift and strong. The rest is stealth, stalking, and a whole lot of waiting."

Leliana smiled softly. The elf didn't know it, but she was describing an assassination _quite_ well. "Indeed. So you will go through the mountain. I will gather my people and we will charge with Cullen's soldiers through the main entrance, distract our foe. Be as swift as you can – we do not have many people left."

The elf caught her eyes and nodded once before turning to Cassandra. Leliana turned, ignoring Roderick and whatever he might have to say. He was not in charge here. Nobody was in charge here. It was complete and utter chaos and somehow they had to close the giant gaping tear through to the Fade without any direction whatsoever.

_Solona, if you were but here. I know this is a problem you would have some insight on._

Shaking her head of the thought, Leliana passed through the gate, the mabari hounds following at her heels without needing to be called. Wallowing in self-pity over her missing lover would accomplish _nothing_.

* * *

They made it through the mountains with little trouble. It was as the deaf one with the war hounds had said: those dead at Zanneth's feet along the trail must have fallen to the initial explosion that created the Breach. At least it was likely a quick death.

That was always a mercy.

If those she came here with were indeed dead… Zanneth could hardly stand to think of it. But if it were true, she hoped they met their end quickly and painlessly from the blast. How else could it have happened?

Zanneth's stomach rumbled in hunger, diverting her dark thoughts. It had been days since she'd eaten anything, and she was currently pushing herself beyond her endurance. On top of that, it seemed that interacting with these rifts took a great deal of energy from her. And her reserve was almost nonexistent to begin with.

Zanneth's attention was recalled by Cassandra. A gloved and gauntleted hand was held out in front of the elf, and in it was a small satchel. Zanneth took it, looking up at Cassandra with her brows raised in question.

"I can hear your stomach rumbling. I realized you have been unconscious and have not eaten anything. You hardly have any fat reserves on you. You must be famished. So eat a few bites. It will help." The human paused, furrowing her brows. "But only a little, lest the activity after going so long without food make you vomit."

Opening the satchel, Zanneth found some nuts and dried fruit.

"Thank you," she murmured, pouring out a small handful and handing the satchel back. Cassandra took it wordlessly.

"I would never have guessed you were a mother hen," Varric said derisively.

_There is something between this shem and the dwarf. He said he is a prisoner. But Cassandra does not chain him, and he bears his personal weapon._

_She allows you a weapon and no longer chains you, either._

_What manner of captivity is this? Is she so sure she can take us down if we decide to run?_

"If you would kindly not remark on the kind of person I am, Varric, I would appreciate it."

The dwarf chuckled. "Right. Because you've absolutely given me any reason to listen to your requests, Seeker."

_Seeker? What is a seeker? She said she was some Hand of this Divine? This is a very strange world. Grandmother did not speak of these things._

_And why is Varric so dismissive of this shem's requests? I thought dwarves and humans generally got on well? What happened between these individuals?_

The human did not say anything further. She merely grunted, clearly disgusted, and kept walking through the snow, scowl firmly in place.

Shaking her head, Zanneth continued right alongside the human. These people she traveled with were… very different from what she was used to.

* * *

Cassandra's brows furrowed as she watched Zanneth. The elf looked around, eyes searching, searching, examining everything save the giant rift before her. Her expression fell subtly, and her eyes finally came to rest on Cassandra.

"Have we a plan?" she asked. She seemed… sad. Resigned. _To what has she resigned herself?_

Cassandra shrugged. "We must close this rift. It is the largest, the first, the key to the Breach."

"You say we. You mean _me_."

Cassandra frowned. "Yes, of course. But you are not alone. You have all those here to help you, to keep whatever demons that rift might spit out at bay."

The elf's features softened almost imperceptibly. "This is true." Her brown eyes left the Seeker's face, finally taking in the vast rift before her. The elf's face was impassive as she studied the giant portal into the Fade that pulsated and undulated with a green light that nearly made Cassandra's stomach turn if she stared too long. What quality was it that made the light of a rift horrifying, and the light that washed over them when it was closed healing and warm? Was it merely her own perception, her feelings in her own heart? Or did some quality of the Fade change?

_If only that blasted arcane warrior were here. She knows these things of the Fade, knows how it can affect the physical world. She spends half her time walking the Fade, draws her power from the Fade. What mission did the Divine send her upon? Was it wise for neither of them to tell either myself or Leliana?_

Cassandra shook her head free of the thoughts. She should not doubt Most Holy like that. It was merely habit. The Seeker never stopped thinking. She constantly turned things over, seeking the truth of truths. It was rare that some objective Truth did not exist, though it was also rare to actually arrive at it.

So what was the truth of this small young woman before her, staring deep into the rift she must close? Did she destroy the Conclave, the Divine? Did she kill all those people? Was one small _elf_ truly capable of so much destruction?

_You are better than judging her, positively or negatively, by her race, Cassandra. What would Most Holy say? _

Zanneth had been looking at the landscape hopefully just now. What had she been looking for? Her eyes had roved over the bodies of the dead like she might find her salvation - or perhaps her greatest fear - among them. Had she not come to the Conclave alone? Was the elf hoping to find something, or some_one_, here among the wreckage of the Temple of Sacred Ashes?

"If I seal this rift, it will close the Breach?" The elf's voice jarred Cassandra from her thoughts.

It was Solas who answered her. "I do not know. I do not know if you possess enough power alone to do this thing. But you must try. This rift should act as the key. If it does not close the Breach, it should at least stop it from expanding. Then we can breathe, and _plan._"

Zanneth's eyes narrowed. "That is not what I asked. Do not tell me what I _must _do." Her eyes strayed to Cassandra, to Leliana with her men and her dogs, to the Breach up in the sky, and back to Solas. "All any of you do is tell me what I must do. I am your prisoner, _and_ your savior?" She scoffed. "Pick one, and stay consistent." Without anything further, the elf gripped her bow more tightly and began walking the perimeter, presumably looking for a way down so she could get close to the rift.

Cassandra frowned. Something had altered the elf's mood. She had been almost warm after the Seeker had offered her food. Now this. It was puzzling. "Come," she said to the others. "We must still complete this task."

As they walked, Varric pointed out the red lyrium all around. Had it been there all along? Was the Temple of Sacred Ashes built on a hot bed of red lyrium? Or had it showed up with the Breach? Was it _linked_ to the Breach in some way? Or perhaps to one who caused the Breach?

Her thoughts were derailed when a deep, distorted voice echoed around them all.

**NOW IS THE HOUR OF OUR VICTORY**

**BRING FORTH THE SACRIFICE**

"What are we hearing?!" Cassandra asked. It was frightening. She had not had so much experience with the Fade in her whole life as she had had in the last two days.

"At a guess?" Solas began, gazing up into the rift. "The person who created the Breach."

**KEEP THE SACRIFICE STILL**

"Okay. _That's_ creepy," Varric commented. "Creepy as _shit_."

"Cease your prattle, Varric," Cassandra snapped. The voice was deeply disturbing. "What are we hearing, Solas?"

"Echoes of what happened here, distorted by the Fade," the apostate replied. Cassandra did not miss how Zanneth stayed quiet, but her large eyes remained ever vigilant. Even now, the elf was the consummate huntress, silently stalking and taking in as much information as she could before action was taken.

Cassandra found herself admiring that.

_SOMEONE! HELP ME!_

"That… that is Most Holy's voice!" Cassandra shouted, looking around wildly for its source. But all she found was the pulsing rift high above.

_What's going on here?_

Zanneth stopped dead in her tracks. Cassandra had to skip to the side to avoid ramming into her. Her suspicion flared to life, and she turned on the elf, hand on the young woman's elbow, gripping hard. "That was _your voice_! You were _here_! With Divine Justinia! What happened?!"

The elf's face was white as a sheet underneath her _vallaslin_, now a deep, blood-red in comparison. Her large eyes met Cassandra's in fear. "I… I don't know!" she shouted, panicked. "I don't remember!"

_RUN WHILE YOU CAN! WARN THEM!_

Cassandra whirled, looking up to the rift once more. "She called to you for help?"

**WE HAVE INTRUDERS**

**SLAY THE ELVES**

"Cassandra, we must close the rift!" Leliana called. Leliana could of course not hear what was happening around them; would have no idea why they had all suddenly halted.

She was about to try to explain to Leliana when another voice, this one male, interrupted her.

_Emma lath, what's-_

The words were cut off in a grunt of pain, followed by a shriek in Zanneth's voice. It echoed around them, and very quickly Cassandra realized that the scream emanated both from the Fade and from the elf herself. Looking to the prisoner's face, the Seeker saw unadulterated rage and grief outlined there, and then she had her hand raised, crackling and sizzling with energy. Before anyone could prepare, the rift was fully open, exploding outward with enough force to throw them all to their feet.

It was a lucky thing they were all thrown back, for where Cassandra and Zanneth had stood, a monstrous demon now towered over them. A voice in the back of the Seeker's head informed her it was likely a pride demon – they often took on this shape in the physical world. Rolling to her feet, Cassandra pulled both swords from their scabbards upon her back, undeterred by the monster's size. She had been fighting blood mages and abominations since she was a young woman. She had not shied away in fear since the day she lost Anthony.

The monster reared, turning in response to the cry that fell from Cassandra's lips. Arrows flew from all directions at the beast, some catching and sticking, others bouncing off and falling harmlessly to the ground. Cassandra was not worried about being struck by accident; Leliana's and Cullen's people had been trained well and would not be aiming low enough to do her any harm. If you could not be sure you would not hit an ally, you did not fire. That was the long and short of it.

Cassandra's first several blows met only the demon's hard armor, sparking off as though she were hitting metal. Her last one was successful, however, biting deep into the monster's foot. It jerked, shrieked, and then Cassandra was flying, sword wrenched from her grip as the demon swiped her away from itself.

She hit the ground hard, but training-born instinct saved her head, and she rolled to her feet almost as soon as she landed, holding her remaining sword before her. She was battered, would be bruised for weeks, but she was unbroken and still able to fight. Taking in the lay of the battlefield, the Seeker could see that the demon was now focused on Solas, who she could see kept up constant incantation, spell after spell hitting the demon. He was fast, though, and kept from the monster's grasp, leading it in a merry chase around the blast site.

Varric stood near a wall, a somewhat manic look on his face as he took aim and shot a powerful bolt. It flew true, driving into the demon's neck with a _thud_ Cassandra herself almost felt.

Leliana was up on the walls with the other archers, firing flaming arrows at the demon with a longbow that was as tall as _she_ was, yard-long shafts her projectile of choice.

_Zanneth. Where is the she?!_

The Seeker cast about, finding Zanneth sprawled upon the ground, the body of a dead soldier pinning her. Cassandra bolted to her side, reaching and pulling the dead woman off of the elf. Holding out her hand, she had Zanneth upon her feet in moments, thrusting her bow at her after rescuing it from the ground.

"Stay with me!" she shouted.

No one ever told you how loud battle was. The din of the battlefield – the cries of the dying, the clash of weapons, the constant sound of armor moving, of rock shifting – grew overpowering very quickly. It was why horns and drums were used to communicate retreat: a shout could barely be heard by someone standing _right_ next to you, let alone across the field of battle.

"How can we defeat that thing?!" the elf shouted back. Her eyes were very large. This was likely her first true battle. A hunter did not engage in battle, in a fight. A hunter stalked her prey and brought her bounty home to feed the hungry.

Cassandra shook her head. "Leave that to the others! _You_ must focus on the rift! If you don't seal it, then we will just have to keep fighting more demons! Exhaustion will overtake us!" She was breathing hard now. Shouting while high on adrenaline stole her breath from her more than she would have thought. "If it stays open, there _will_ be more demons!"

The elf nodded, her features hardening, her grip noticeably tightening around her bow. Cassandra nodded back. "Stay with me! I will get you close enough to the rift! You know what to do?"

The elf nodded again, her gaze meeting Cassandra's cinnamon eyes with such intensity that the Seeker could barely stand under the scrutiny. Turning, the Right Hand to Divine Beatrix and Divine Justinia raised her sword before her, scanning the battlefield for a route to take.

The demon was marching after Solas again. It gave her the perfect opening. She began to trot forward, holding her sword in one hand. Almost as an afterthought, she stooped, grabbing up her other sword, which had likely been pulled and tossed away by the demon. Now, fully armed once more, Cassandra felt more in control, less naked, and it was with a fierce determination that she headed straight for the rift, trusting that the elf followed behind her.

Skidding to a halt, Cassandra turned, pleased to see that Zanneth only trailed her by a few paces. Gesturing, the warrior encouraged the elf on, closer to the rift and behind the protection Cassandra and her swords offered. A boom sounded almost immediately. Its cadence was familiar now, the sound of the elf's mark interacting with a rift.

_This small young woman does not hesitate a single moment. How is she so resilient, after all that has befallen her?_

The demon's attention was immediately pulled to Zanneth. _Perhaps it draws its energy from the Fade. To cut off its source is to kill it. _That was certainly how it worked with abominations: if you killed the host, the spirit had no more foothold in this world and it would be destroyed. The demon was not close, but its stride was mighty, and it would only take moments for the creature to get close enough for it to strike. Cassandra would not let it.

With a cry she surged forward, swords brought to bear. Several soldiers wielding swords and shields ran after the beast, trying to distract it. Cassandra met it head-on, lashing out against its leg with both swords.

But it was as if they were not there. Cassandra and her fellow soldiers were no more bothersome than gnats to the monster now that its attention was upon the elf with the mark. The demon batted at them, and Cassandra found herself on the ground once more. She would need to start carrying a shield with her in addition to her swords. Her weapons simply did not do enough to protect her, or to damage her foe. Not against something so large.

The Seeker's heart leapt into her throat as she looked upon Zanneth. The demon was nearly upon her! It would surely destroy this young woman, their only hope!

As she watched, helpless to do anything, Cassandra saw the demon reach with one of its mighty hands, stretching out to crush the elf. Just as it was upon the young woman, though, the rift let forth another cacophonous _boom_. A great green pulse shot upward, hitting the Breach before expanding outward from it through the sky. At the same moment, the demon burst in its own explosion of warm, gentle light as had the rift. They were all showered in the light, somehow feeling better, more rejuvenated for it.

And amidst it all was Zanneth. She stood like a beacon of power, hand upraised, awash in warm light for a timeless moment. Even small as she was, even _bald_ as she was, the elf still commanded the field. Everyone looked upon her, admiration and respect in their eyes. It was, quite possibly, the first time an elf had managed to do so to a group made almost exclusively of humans.

She had saved them.

Zanneth had saved them all.

She must have been exhausted, however, because when she began to lower her hand, the timeless moment now over, her eyes seeking, _what_ Cassandra did not know… she crumpled.

"Zanneth!"

Cassandra was on her feet in less than a moment, sheathing her swords as she hurried forward. She knelt by the elf, unsure of what she would find. Was Zanneth dead? Grievously injured?

_Good. Thank the Maker, she is only unconscious._ Standing with the elf in her arms, marveling at how little the woman weighed, Cassandra turned, finding the eyes of all who followed them upon the pair.

A shout went up, its source unknowable. "She saved us! Andraste pushed her out of the Fade and she saved us! She is Andraste's Herald!"

"Herald of Andraste!" began to be chanted, and Cassandra could not help the smile pulling at her lips. _It is true_, she thought, looking down upon the face of this young woman. _She is precisely what we needed, precisely when we needed it. She rose to the challenge, and she saved us all_.

The Breach was not closed, it was true. It still hovered high above them, sickening to look upon, for it defied all laws of the physical world. But _something_ had happened. Something _good_. Cassandra was sure of it. And this elf, this Herald of Andraste, yet lived. They had what they needed most: _time_. Time to rest, time to plan, time to simply _breathe_ for a moment.

Allowing the victorious chanting to go on unhindered, Cassandra began the long trek from the Temple to Haven, thanking the Maker with each step for sending them this epic miracle, in such an unexpected and diminutive form.


	5. Some Time To Breathe

_A/N: I just wanted to address something real quick. For some reason I cannot explain, I tend to make my characters go bald at one point or another. Solona was shaved bald to punish her for running from the Circle. Alistair and Zevran lost all their hair by being burned by dragon-Flemeth. Now Zanneth has lost all her hair, for reasons unknown. I swear I don't have a thing for baldness (though on the right man or woman, it can be super interesting and hot). It just... keeps happening. And I refuse to write someone going through horrific burns making it through with their hair intact. Hair burns. It just does.  
_

_So... yeah. It just keeps happening. I don't know why. But each time I've had a specific reason, and that hasn't changed for Zanneth. Y'all just don't know what it is yet._

_And now, without further ado... a chapter that barely mentions Zanneth at all._

_Also! Smut warning. Is minor, but definitely NSFW. Enjoy!_

* * *

_**Chapter 5: Some Time To Breathe**_

Revka waited at the gate into Haven with bated breath. She had seen the great green light shoot toward the Breach nearly two hours before, watched as it met the great hole in the sky and then burst outward. Something had happened then. It was hard to say what, exactly, but the Breach was not so terrifying afterward. And it had not expanded or shot demons out at them since that moment. It was still there, still hovering above the temple remains, but it seemed to have gone… dormant, perhaps, was an appropriate word.

Of course there had been much talk. Their refugees numbered both templars _and_ mages, though of course only the injured were still in Haven. All those able-bodied and trained in any kind of combat had gone with Cullen and his soldiers to face the demons in the valley until a solution to the Breach could be found. It was those who stayed that talked of the Breach, of what the green pulse of light had meant, speculated on what had happened at the temple.

Now Revka waited to see who would return. She had watched almost every person who remained important to her leave for the valley, and it quietly drove her insane. She had no skills in battle, her deadliest weapon her needle. And her words. But her words did her no good now, nor her needle, not against demons, not against a hole into the Fade. She had to watch as Leliana, her sister's great love, and Cullen, the man who was quickly coming to take that place in her own heart, walked into the fray without looking back. They were so brave, unafraid of death as they faced their duty.

It made Revka feel utterly useless.

She knew logically, of course, that it was simply that her skills were more useful elsewhere. After coming to her majority as King Alistair and Queen Elissa's personal seamstress, Revka had begun to show an aptitude for politics. Unlike her sister, the Warden-Commander of Ferelden's Grey Wardens, Revka was always searching for the best way to get people to agree. She had been known on more than one occasion to get the king and queen through an argument, and everyone seemed to favor her, commoner and noble alike. It had been with great enthusiasm that Alistair had encouraged Revka to go to Orlais to study and apprentice with his own ambassador to the court of Empress Celene.

It had been absolutely _thrilling_. She had met Josephine almost immediately, the woman beginning her own stint as the Antivan ambassador not long after Revka had arrived in court at the tender age of twenty. They had become fast friends, and only after Leliana and Solona had arrived in Val Royeaux at the new Divine's summoning did she learn that Josephine actually _knew_ Leliana. The story was… interesting, to say the least.

Both Revka and Josephine had been recruited secretly when the Divine began her preparations for the Conclave. They would need strong diplomats, skilled in navigating through the customs of both Ferelden and Orlais, common and noble alike, as well as someone knowledgeable in the arts of both mages and templars. While a skilled diplomat in her own right, Revka's true skill lay in her knowledge of the arcane. Through her sister, the only known living arcane warrior, and her history with the Chantry and its templars, as well as her natural inquisitiveness, Revka Amell was likely the most knowledgeable person on magic and the Fade who didn't herself have the gift.

And she wielded that knowledge expertly, mending rifts between Circles and their templars, between devout nobles and their mage children, between Circle leaders and nobles in whose city they resided. It was she who was the true powerhouse behind the Conclave. Yes, it was Divine Justinia's name and the power it carried that got templars and mages to attend the Conclave. But it was Revka's knowledgeable counsel which informed Justinia, Leliana, and Cassandra on the right things to say, the right moves to make.

But it had all been for naught. The Conclave was no more, the Divine was dead, and the Breach had hung above them for two days, pregnant with demons, promising destruction if they did not find a solution.

Now, at least, it appeared they had some time to _breathe_.

"Hail! The Seeker returns! Our Right and Left Hands yet live!"

Revka straightened, straining her vision to its limit. She could not see. However, Revka Amell was no delicate child of a noble, raised to never get dirty and never be indecent. Hiking up her skirts, Revka ran through the sloshy mud to the scaffolding upon which the lookout was poised and began to climb up to him. She ignored his incredulity as she braced herself at the top, scanning in the direction he had been looking.

There. She could see a group of at least fifty people walking over the frozen lake. Smiling when she saw the glinting of the late afternoon sun on a full head of blonde hair, Revka climbed down to the ground once more.

It took them longer than Revka would have liked for the group to enter the refugee camp. But once there, it was only a minute more before those at the head of the group were passing through the gate into the village proper. Cassandra entered first, Leliana at her side. In the Seeker's arms was the Dalish prisoner, unconscious and inexplicably bald.

Revka's attention only lingered there for a moment, however, as the next moment her eyes found the subject of her joy in her relief: Cullen. The former templar had a slight smile on his face as those in the village began to cheer. His curly blond hair waved in a light breeze, and his whole demeanor, while _tired_, was also relieved. That he had any reason at all to smile was good news, indeed.

"Cullen!" she yelled, dashing forward. His smile widened, mirroring her own, and he caught her with his one good arm as she threw herself into his embrace.

"I thought your feelings were entirely physical," he teased, his voice low so only she could hear.

"It's true. Only physical," she echoed, her cheeks nearly aching with her grin.

"You're just using me for my body, you said."

She giggled. "Yes," she confirmed, whispering into his ear. "And I need to use it. Right now."

She felt his body stiffen, and she grinned to herself. They had started sharing a bed mere _weeks_ after he arrived from Kirkwall. It had started light-hearted, no promises made, and yet… neither of them sought out anyone else. Indeed, Revka had pursued him with the singular focus of a hound from the moment she had first seen him. But once she had him, she knew she must not push, even if she knew he had such potential for the future. So she allowed the light-hearted teasing and joking, letting the feelings develop wordlessly between them.

They had spent every night together since the first, even when she had her courses and could not be intimate. Revka's bed had not seen use in _months_. With his absence in the valley, her thoughts on her feelings had solidified, and it had become incredibly important to her that he know.

Reaching for his face, cradling both cheeks in her hands, she pulled him down and kissed him tenderly. "I think I love you, Cullen," she whispered as they parted. His face flashed in surprise, but the smile never left.

"I think I feel the same." His answering kiss was all lips and tongue and _laughter_ and it was all she could hope for. It was not a marriage proposal. It was not "and they lived happily until the end of their days." But it was good and sweet and _honest_ and the relief in the air was palpable. She couldn't possibly ask for more.

Separating, they moved into Haven together, walking hand in hand.

* * *

Cullen awoke with the sunrise. Someone had offered to put curtains on his window, but he had never bothered to actually have it done. It seemed unimportant at the time - he needed to be up with the sun, anyway. Now, there were a million things that needed doing that made things such as curtains _actually_ unimportant, no matter who viewed the problem.

Of course, _now_ it might be nice to sleep in a little, as he had a very beautiful - and very naked - woman he was very much in love with lying in his arms.

_Even after all this time, that's how I think of it. As if I still have two of them_. The commander sighed. He had one arm. Well, one _hand_. Over a year before, on that day full of madness in Kirkwall, he had finally seen Meredith for what she was: insane. He had turned on her, as well as all the templars under his command, and demanded she stand down. She had answered by lashing out with that wicked red lyrium sword of hers. Some property of it made the weapon sharper than any sword could be, and the knight-commander had become stronger than any person he had faced. Her blow had bitten right through his bracer, on which he'd tried to catch the blow, and relieved him of his hand and most of his forearm.

The pain had been excruciating. He had crumpled, and two of his soldiers had dragged him off to the side so that he was not hurt further, before joining Hawke and her loyal companions in the fight. Hawke's sister, having been in town to visit and therefore present at the battle, had healed him, having had to literally sit on his chest to keep him still. He had been blinded by pain. But it was not only physical pain. He had been so _angry_. He had _trusted_ Meredith. She was a _reasonable_ person. But the moment he had asked her to step down, when he called her out for no longer being reasonable, she had done _this_. Once healed and no longer in danger of bleeding out, he had watched her dance and jump through the battlefield like someone possessed, and his faith in the templars had drained out of him like so much wine out of a smashed barrel.

What help could they all be if their leadership was corrupt? You were to _listen_ to your commanders. They were there not only to lead you but also to _guide_ you. Yet both commanders he'd had thus far merely enforced their own harsh views of the world as if it were the only truth. Would mages seek out blood magic if they were not chained like slaves? He had been angry at the time, but after he had been rescued by that damnable warden in Ferelden's Circle and they had pieced together what had happened with Uldred, it had become clear to Cullen that Jowan had simply been searching for safety. And a dog that could not run would resort to biting a person if it must. Had Jowan been given extra time, extra instruction, or perhaps if apprentices could walk the Fade with their instructors somehow, learn through the experience of those who were more experienced than they themselves were, then perhaps his choices - Tranquility or death in his Harrowing - would not have been so dire to him?

Kirkwall was harsher, and their problem with corruption among mages had been worse. Over time, Cullen had begun to doubt even more. Was it bad because the templars there were harsh? Or were they harsh because the corruption was so bad? He did what he could to be kind, to teach his recruits that their charges were _people_, but it had been difficult at times. The corruption, the blood magic, the apostates turning into abominations in the street… his first and foremost duty was to keep the citizenry safe. Meredith's answer was to crack down harder. He tried to argue against it, but she would not hear him. And when he finally had demanded she stand down… she had stolen from him part of his ability to be a templar.

What templar could do his duty with only one arm?!

He had been a sad shadow of his former self when Cassandra Pentaghast had come seeking news of the Champion. His templars had insisted he keep charge of them, but he delegated most of those duties, spending all his time brooding in Meredith's office. When the Seeker had come, he had been worried the failure here would be taken out on those men and women who followed him. When what she wanted was Hawke, and not retribution against the templars, he had gladly given up Varric's name. He had felt guilty almost immediately - he should have told her all, and owned his part in it. But he did not feel guilty for wanting to protect his soldiers. They had merely followed orders. They had suffered from bad leadership, just as he had.

Now _he_ was the leader.

After speaking with Varric she had come back to him and asked him his version of what had happened with Meredith. He had told her all he knew, after a week's guilty conscience, and when he was through, she told him of the Divine's plan. The Circles were in rebellion. The templars were talking of abandoning the Chantry. The Divine wanted a solution that would quell the fighting, save lives, and improve the lot of both templars and mages. If she could not find one, then she would restart the Inquisition of old, and bring order to the chaos that was threatening all of Thedas.

It was like a fire had lit in his heart. When Cassandra asked if he was up to the challenge of commanding the armies of the faithful, he had dropped to his knees before her and pledged himself.

"_If you will have me, Seeker, I will do all I can, damaged as I am."_

His new duty had restored his purpose. He had given up the lyrium, suffering for it, but finding meaning in his service to the Divine, to the Maker. He had not felt so good about his work since he had been a young man preparing for his vigil.

The nightmares plagued him, of course, but having Revka near seemed to help him sleep more easily. The first night she tried to stay away due to her courses, he had simply told her how what he wanted was her presence, and not merely her body, and she had not tried to rob him of her company again.

But now he was here. The Breach was stable, but barely two hundred of his soldiers - former templars, loyal mages, and regular fighting men and women moved to serve the Divine and her Conclave - had survived the explosion and subsequent fighting, most of them injured to varying degrees. It was not enough for the Inquisition he knew Cassandra still planned to declare. How was he going to protect them all with only a handful of soldiers?

Revka stirred in his arms, pulling his attention away from his brooding. She was delightfully warm and smooth against him. He turned to face her just as her eyes cracked open.

"As a child in Denerim I would be up with the sun every day," she mumbled lazily, burrowing her face into his throat. "Then I went to Orlais…"

"Where you took on the habits of a bunch of lazy nobles," he teased, laughing as she nodded. He pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head. "How you managed to take them all seriously, I'll never know."

"Soldiers and generals rarely got on well with the nobility," she said, a slight laugh in her voice. "Your sense of duty clashes mightily with their selfishness. Luckily, people like _me_ are there to smooth out the wrinkles."

"It's true that we would have no Orlesian noble support if it were up to _my_ diplomatic skills," he said with a chuckle, shaking his head.

"And their coin is what we need, just as much as we need their belief. Even moreso, with Most Holy gone…"

Cullen hugged her closer. The Divine's death had rocked them all, but Cullen had not been close to the woman, himself. Revka had been familiar with her for years, through her closeness with Leliana. It was rumored that Revka had actually flouted all propriety and thrown her arms around the Divine's shoulders when she arrived in Haven, treating her as a woman and not as the symbol of office she was to so many. Of course, only those loyal to the sunburst throne had been in attendance, so it was not an insult or offense, and the Divine had returned the young woman's embrace. Yes, a few people were scandalized, but it was easily chalked up to Revka's "country bumpkin" roots, and no harm was done to anyone's reputation.

But now… now his lover was deeply saddened by the Divine's death. Everyone was sad their Divine was gone, but for Revka, Leliana, and Cassandra, the pain was a personal loss as well as the loss of a beloved religious figure. And Cullen had been gone since the morning of the explosion, could not be here to hold her and let her cry. They had made love multiple times throughout the night of his return, interspersed with serious discussions about their developing feelings and also crying on Revka's part over the loss of the Divine. In addition, Revka's sister - the same mage Cullen had foolishly fancied in the Ferelden Circle - had been missing these many months, and the stress of all of it had finally burst the dam of Revka's emotions. Safe in Cullen's bed, she had let it spill forth, thanking him over and over even as she soaked his shoulder with her tears.

He understood how difficult it was to be vulnerable. He did not think her weak. He was honestly honored that she felt so safe with him. This was the first time a woman had ever shown such trust in him. He hoped he could live up to that trust.

She did not weep now, however. Her tears were spent for the moment.

"I don't want to be sad right now. We're celebrating," Revka said, face turned up, beautiful grey eyes looking into his own.

"Celebrating? Is that what this has been? I thought you loved me. That's what you said, anyway."

She grinned, pressing his shoulders to the bed. "I do love you, my beautiful man," she said, slithering on top of him. His body responded immediately, and she smirked, taking him in hand, her smirk growing as he groaned and pushed into the caress. "I love you, and I love _this_. I can still use your body, can I not?"

"Please… do…" he panted, straining to not grab her hip and shove her down over him. Her sex hovered just out of reach, her hand stroking him lazily. Her whole body radiated heat, especially her palm, and he seemed to jump in that beloved grasp. She only tortured him a moment or two longer, however, positioning him before sinking down and surrounding him in her clinging, velvety heat.

They made love throughout the morning, reveling in each other's presence. For now the Breach would not swallow them whole. There was a great deal to be done, but at least they had the time. The time to do the work, and the time to enjoy each other a little longer.


	6. The Inquisition

_**Chapter 6: The Inquisition**_

_She runs after Hyune, her little brother laughing as he pulls off his shirt, his breeches, taking a running leap into the stream. She follows suit, knowing the other children are trailing behind, their minders ever-vigilant. But it is a hot day and the children complain. A swim in the stream will quiet them._

_Hyune and Sinna throw pebbles into her aravel until she wakes. They coax her out in the pre-dawn gloom, and the three of them leave for the day, hunting and fishing and swimming. As she pulls off her clothes to swim, she feels Sinna's eyes linger a little too long. But soon she is in the water and covered, and he does not get near enough to make her uncomfortable._

_Hands are on her hips, pushing, pressing, dragging her clothes away. Sinna covers her lips with his own, her body with his, pushing, searching, finding. They are one being, joined in that age-old act that has connected two people since the dawn of time. All she wants is to feel something from this act, something for this man._

_She and Sinna run after Hyune. The halls of stone are strange, but she can spare them no attention. A great voice echoes around them. She answers without thought. Hyune is gutted in front of her. She screams as Sinna dies in her arms._

_Her stomach lurches, as if a creature inside of her kicks and squirms._

Zanneth awakened with tears upon her cheeks. Her eyes snapped open, and she saw that she was in some manner of wooden structure. She moved to sit, but cried out, finding that she ached all over.

_What in the name of the Creators happened?_

A flash of green caught her eye, and when her gaze fell on her hand, taking in the glowing green mark that resided somewhere beneath its surface, she remembered all that had happened since last she awoke, in the dungeons.

She was not now in the dungeons. What did that mean?

"Ah, you're awake. Good. Now I can stop playing nursemaid."

Sitting up, moving gingerly due to her sore body, Zanneth saw that she was not alone in the room. The voice came from a man sitting at a table, a book open before him. His face was covered in hair, but his head was not. _So strange that the shem grow hair on their faces. I prefer that the People do not._ He wore robes like the Keeper and her First. Perhaps he was a mage? He was clearly human. Mages had been central in this human conflict. It would make sense for him to be one.

Pushing herself up the rest of the way, Zanneth reached up to absently scratch an itch. She was surprised to find her head covered in miniscule hairs rather than her customary long braid. _That's right, it all fell out. At least I know it's growing back._

She eyed the man warily as he got up, approaching her bedside. "Well, you don't have to grovel at my feet, but a thank you might be nice," he groused.

Zanneth raised a brow. "I'm not sure what I should thank you for."

"Kept you alive, I did. After they brought you back from the Temple. Said you stopped the hole in the sky expanding. Hell of a thing. Nearly killed you. But it looks like you're alright now."

Zanneth inclined her head toward him. "Then I thank you."

He nodded, getting to his feet once more. "Right. Seeker Pentaghast wanted you in the Chantry as soon as you woke and were able. Eat the food on the table, and then go to her. You haven't eaten anything proper in almost a week. You've lost weight." As he got to the door, he turned, scrutinizing her for a moment. "Also, you're pregnant. Don't know if you knew or not. I'll keep my mouth shut, but do us all a favor, now that you're Herald of Andraste, and stop whoring yourself out, yeah?"

He was gone before she could respond.

_I'm… **pregnant**?! _

Zanneth could take it no longer. She distinctly remembered hearing Sinna's voice silenced by a blade. Hyune was likely dead, as well. And Relarian, though she did not know him well and did not feel the loss as sharply. She had apparently physically walked the Fade and emerged only to be taken prisoner by a bunch of _shemlen_. She had an alien mark of magical light in her hand. She was starving. She ached all over. She did not know where she stood with these _shem_, whether she was still a prisoner or not.

And now some _shem_ with a bad attitude informed her she was with child. And apparently thought it was an illegitimate child, at that? This child's father was dead, and he was a man she was never even sure she loved.

It was too much. Zanneth wept.

She wept for her brother, Hyune, only twenty summers and so full of life. He was her best friend. His future had been bright. He would have made an excellent father. She would have loved his children as her own.

She wept for her grandmother, her clan's Keeper, who had lost her grandson, as well as her First in Relarian. The woman had lost so _much_. And now she lost so much more.

She wept for Sinna, the orphan who came to them from flat-ear parents. He had been kind, and strong. He would have been a good father, a good provider. He had been gentle, and patient. He did not require that she be anything but the quiet, introspective person that she had always been. He had not been worried that she was not sure if she loved him or not. He had been willing to leave her alone if she had not wanted him. He did not deserve the fate he had met. He deserved someone better than her. He deserved someone passionate, someone who could love him as he loved her.

Mostly, though, Zanneth wept for herself. She had her grandmother, yes, but she was old and would not see many more summers even in excellent health as she was. Zanneth had lost the last of her family. Her little sister had been lost when she was but five summers. Her parents had been lost when she was seven summers. Now she lost her brother and the man who was to be her husband. She was frightened and alone in a world full of hostile _shem_.

As her tears finally subsided, Zanneth found her hand perched tenderly over her stomach. This child was her last link to two men she'd loved, in very different ways, now torn from her side forever. She would carry it, birth it, and be its mother.

She would never marry, though. She could not bring herself to go through this again, nor would she ever be close enough to another to share herself again. Time had been too cruel. There had not been enough of it for her to come to love Sinna, and she was sure there was not enough of it left in all the world for her to care for anyone else.

She would be selfish in this one way. She had contributed to the continuation of her clan. That would have to be enough.

"You shall be Sinna," she whispered, sniffling, caressing her belly with both hands. It was a good name, for a boy or for a girl. She hoped it had its father's blue eyes.

* * *

"What is your plan?"

Cassandra looked up as she walked. "You know very well what I am planning, Leliana. It is your plan, too."

The former bard nodded, looking ahead. "True. We are sure she is awake?"

"That is what the alchemist said." The elf, Zanneth, had not shown her face in the Chantry just yet, but Adan had informed her that the young woman was awake. Cassandra did not have the time to wait for the elf to come find them. She also could not risk the woman finding some way to run from them. So she went to the cabin they had put the woman in, seeking to see for herself. And seeking to ensure the woman's cooperation. They could not afford to lose her. She was the only one who could interact with the rifts at all.

Leliana walked at her side, her cowl drawn over her shining red strands of hair. The cowl was a symbol of her office; the Left Hand had ever been a gatherer and keeper of secrets, her identity not well-known. Her face was always shrouded in shadow, her true name only spoken among those they knew they could trust. Publicly, Leliana was known as Sister Nightingale, hearkening back to her days as a very successful bard in the court of the Orlesian nobility. Only among those loyal to the sunburst throne was her true name ever spoken, and only when addressing her personally, and not the office.

The token of Cassandra's office was much more public and blatant, a bejeweled dagger ever at her hip. Just as it was Andraste's right hand that held the Flaming Sword, so it was the Divine's Right Hand that held this dagger. It was meant as a bold, public statement of the Divine's power, of her justice. And the fact that Cassandra had never once pulled the dagger from its sheath was a symbol of the Divine's – and by extension Andraste's – mercy. Her name required no shrouding, and indeed would not be shrouded no matter how hard she might try. She was famous in her own right, both as Nevarran nobility, as a member of the famous dragon hunting clans of old, and as the savior of the Ten-Year Gathering in which she had saved Divine Beatrix twenty years before. Her name and her deeds would forever be associated with the office she held.

"Well, let us hope she has not run," Leliana's peculiar voice sounded. "The Dalish are far more skilled than even my agents once in the woods. We would never find her, even weak as she likely is."

When Cassandra had first met Leliana, the redhead still had her hearing. It had been near the beginning of the winter of the Blight in Ferelden, and she and her apprentice, Daniel, had ventured to Ferelden on the Divine's orders. She sought the truth of what had happened to Ferelden's king and why the new regent would not allow the Orlesian wardens entry. As a Seeker of Truth and Right Hand of the Divine, she could go where others could not, and so she had taken her apprentice with her and ventured into Ferelden. The conflict was resolved before she could stalk into the royal palace and demand answers, however, and she had been forced to winter in the city.

Leliana had met her at the Chantry. Cassandra had noticed the small woman eyeing her, and after she had finished saying her devotions, the woman had boldly approached her. Her voice had the smooth, silky accent of Orlais, but her red hair and porcelain skin spoke very much of Ferelden. As a transplant to Orlais and Ferelden herself, this had intrigued Cassandra, and she had begun speaking with the younger woman. She had learned that Leliana was a companion to the last of the Ferelden Grey Wardens. She was also a former lay sister, and had grown up in Orlais, though Ferelden was her country of birth.

They had become fast friends through the winter. Leliana had had many questions about the Seekers. Cassandra did not know why, but she had nothing better to do during that long winter. Her apprentice, Daniel, had even developed a bit of a crush on the redhead, but the woman had made it very clear early on that her heart belonged to another.

The tall, dark-skinned apostate-turned-warden, Solona Amell. Cassandra had not known what to think at first. She was an apostate who had attempted to run from the Circle, and was permanently marked for having done so. The fact that Ferelden's Circle did this to their escapees said a lot about the knight-commander's attitude toward mages, and provided a very good reason for why the young woman would wish to escape. But she had a unique form of magic that sounded very dangerous. It made Cassandra uneasy that the warden was free of templar oversight. Her views on mages had changed over the years, but they had not changed _that_ drastically. The Circles were necessary, but so was treating mages with humanity. It was easy to look at Orlais' White Spire and discount any claim mages made of being ill-used, but the mark was there on Solona's face, irrefutable proof that other Circles were far harsher in their treatment.

In the end, it didn't matter how Cassandra felt, though. She left Denerim before the first official thaw, heading for Orlais as soon as the landscape allowed. She could not help in the conflict to come, and her mission for the Divine was through. And in the end, Solona had done it, had defeated the archdemon and even lived to tell the tale. She was the Hero of Ferelden, her companions Heroes of the Blight, and her tale was told and mistold again and again throughout Thedas. It was truly extraordinary.

Then the arcane warrior faded out of sight for years, showing up in Orlais with Leliana when the new Divine summoned Cassandra's old friend. Cassandra had been shocked to find that Leliana had lost her hearing during the battle with the archdemon. It was truly an extraordinary story, hearing Leliana had been healed by their companion, a senior enchanter from Ferelden's Circle. The elder mage had sacrificed her life so that she could save Leliana and everyone else atop the fort after the archdemon's demise. And the grace with which Leliana carried herself… Cassandra was sure she would be bitter if she lost her hearing. Leliana was grateful, and spoke of that mage, Wynne, only with reverence. It was… humbling to watch.

Despite her shock at Leliana's condition, the Seeker had been pleased to learn that the new Left Hand would be someone she had met before, someone with a tie to the Chantry. Yes, she was _surprised_ to learn of Leliana's colorful past, but it did not surprise her that Justinia would choose someone like that. Leliana was small, beautiful, and could be demure when she needed to be. She was experienced with the damnable Game of the Orlesian court, and she knew how to gather, keep, and discreetly share information. She was the ideal candidate.

And she had the added bonus of already being loyal to the woman Justinia had been – Mother Dorothea.

Solona, on the other hand, had taken some getting used to. The woman was brash, unapologetic, and stuck out like a sore thumb no matter where she went. But she was devoted to Leliana, and after a time, to Justinia, as well. Cassandra could have done without Solona and her constant jesting and her strange magic, but she would never even think about taking _Leliana_ without Solona. They were a package, bound by devotion, and Cassandra knew that to have one, she must have the other. Leliana would not be the same person, indeed would not be able to carry out her duties, without Solona. Cassandra understood that.

And their love truly was something to behold. The Seeker listened with rapt attention to the stories from the Blight. Solona had set herself _on fire_ for Leliana, throwing herself bodily at the broodmother to save her love. The impetus behind her mastering her peculiar powers had been that she needed to save Leliana from the archdemon. They were utterly devoted to the other, helping each other, taking care of each other, shouldering the others' burdens so they need not endure the cruelties of the world alone. The romantic in Cassandra veritably _purred_ to hear the stories. While she loved Galyan, even she did not have that great love with him. Duty and his loyalty to the Circle kept them apart much of the time. Hence their mutual decision to separate not long after Leliana and Solona arrived in Val Royeaux.

Leliana had been… different since Solona left. The arcane warrior had pledged herself privately to Most Holy, and had been quite devoted. When they received news of Kirkwall, the Divine sent the former warden – stripped of her title by her superiors in Weisshaupt for reasons she would not say – on a mission neither she nor the Divine would speak of. She had said an obscenely long goodbye to her lover – Solona and Leliana had been holed up for an entire day – and then left. She sent regular communications for a time, taking one of Leliana's specially-trained hawks with her. But the hawk had returned with Leliana's message unread some months before, and could not seem to find the arcane warrior no matter how many times Leliana sent the bird after her. The Divine had been worried, as well, before her death, but still she would not say what secret mission she had sent Solona on.

When her lover's letters stopped, Leliana withdrew into herself. It was a slow thing, but comparing Leliana _now_ to Leliana with Solona around was a dramatic difference. Leliana used to smile. She used to laugh, to go about without her cowl, without her figurative Nightingale mask. Now she disappeared into the role at all times of the day. Cassandra knew why. Without her lover here to prop her up as she did the difficult work the Divine asked her to do, Leliana had nothing, no one, to keep her sane and to take her burdens from her, even if only for the evening. She was worried sick, but she could not show it, could not wail and gnash her teeth. So she threw herself into her work.

Cassandra feared for her friend now that Justinia was gone, even as she herself mourned. She knew what it was to throw herself into her work. That was what she was doing now. The fact that the work _must_ be done was convenient; Cassandra would throw herself into her duties whether or not the Breach were above them. This chaos must stop. She had lost too much. Leliana had lost too much. The world had lost too much.

Cassandra shook herself of her reverie as she approached the door to the cabin. "I will go in alone. I do not wish to frighten or intimidate her."

Leliana's lip quirked, barely perceptible in the early-morning light. "And you are not intimidating?" The former bard looked up to the Seeker. Cassandra was not an especially tall woman, but Leliana was very small, of a height with Zanneth, now that Cassandra thought of it. Indeed she barely came up to her lover's _chin_. Cassandra would never say so, but it irked her that Solona was so much taller. It was petty, but height equaled power in the eyes of men, and Solona did not have to work hard for the respect she earned. It irked Cassandra to no end that she constantly had to prove her mettle to the men of the Orlesian court and the _apostate_ did not.

"Perhaps you are not aware of quite how frightening your spymaster role is. People are afraid I will draw a sword or hit them. They're afraid _you_ will have everyone they love mysteriously disappear. Or have one of your hounds dismember them where they stand."

Leliana was quiet for a moment before nodding her head. "You have a fair point. I will wait out here. Do remember you cannot call for me if you need me."

Cassandra smirked. "I think I can handle one sickly little elf."

"She did survive the Breach twice now, Cassandra."

The Seeker furrowed her brows the slightest bit. "Understood. I shall not underestimate her. But for the record, I would have it known that I do not believe she is guilty of the Divine's death, nor of opening the Breach. I think she is merely a victim of circumstance."

"I as well. Now go. The Breach is yet open. We need her cooperation."

Nodding, Cassandra turned, knocking upon the door. After a moment, it opened, and staring up at her was a pale face covered in deep-red tattoos. Zanneth wore a simple tunic and trousers, taken from an elven servant who had been honored to offer some spare clothes for Andraste's Herald, and her head was covered in soft bristles of hair.

Cassandra did not miss that the hair grew in white. But they would have to speculate on that later. She could not stand at this door forever.

"Good morning, Zanneth," the Seeker greeted. "Might I come in and have a word?"

The elf nodded, stepping out of the way of the door. When Cassandra closed the door behind her, the elf cocked her head to the side. "The other will not join you?"

"No, she will not. I thought it best we speak alone. Have you had a chance to eat?"

The elf nodded. She seemed… withdrawn. _I suppose I can hardly blame her for that. Everything that has happened to her, then nearly dying in this very room while she was unconscious. It is a lot to take in._

"I hoped you would come speak with myself and the Divine's other advisors. We have an important matter to discuss."

The elf regarded her with furrowed brows, just barely growing back in, also in white. "What need have you for me?"

"You still bear the mark. The Breach is stable, but it is not closed. It is still a threat. We hoped you would agree to work with us to close it. We have some ideas. And we still have the plan the Divine had set in motion to stop the chaos tearing at our lands. Our duty to the Divine did not die with her. We… have some ideas to address both problems." She paused, regarding the elf a moment. "Will you at least listen? You would need to stay with us for a time before you were strong enough to travel either way."

"So you no longer suspect me?"

Cassandra shook her head. "I do not. The culprit is out there, reveling in the chaos he has wrought, I am sure. I am also sure that it is not _you_."

"So… no more trial? I am a free agent?"

Cassandra was not sure where this line of questioning was going. "Yes… though your circumstances are still unusual. Are… are you sure you are not a mage? Is there magic in your blood?"

"My grandmother is my clan's Keeper, so yes, there is magic in my blood." Her expression pulled as her hand went momentarily to her abdomen. "But I have never myself had the gift. I am merely a hunter. Why do you ask?"

"You would have no way of knowing, but your hair is growing back white. I know of only one person with this hair coloring, and _she_ is a mage of no small talent. A talent thought to be unique, in fact. And the mark of such mages is pure white hair."

Zanneth's brows furrowed further. "There are legends among my people of arcane warriors. They are marked from a young age with pure white hair. They wielded magic in battle like a warrior wields a blade. They could appear where they wished on the battlefield, and always seemed one step ahead of their foes. The People have not had one born to them in… not since the days the Dales were promised to us. But…" The elf's hand stole up to her head, testing the bristles with her palm. "But my hair was dark, and has been since I was born. This must be something else."

Cassandra nodded. "Likely. Perhaps it is something to do with your interaction with the Fade, or that mark on your hand. Your descriptions of arcane warriors sound like this woman, though. She was marked from a young age, wields her magic in battle as you describe. She is human, however."

Zanneth perked up. "How odd. Can I meet her?"

"Alas, she has been missing these many months. If she were here, I am sure you would already have had the irritation of meeting her, as she is the most skilled healer I have ever met."

"Irritation?"

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "I find her… irksome. But it is unimportant. Will you join us in this meeting?"

The elf regarded her for a moment, unafraid of the Seeker's gaze. It was not something many people seemed to be able to do. She had been told she had a brooding stare, and people found it intimidating. Let them be intimidated. She was a Seeker, the Right Hand of the Divine, and a warrior of no small skill. She need not concern herself with those others.

To have this little elf's eyes on her own, however… it was refreshing. And off-putting. She had trouble holding the elf's gaze.

"Very well, I will accompany you." Zanneth cast about the room, clearly looking for something.

"Can I help you find something?"

"My coat. What happened to it?"

Cassandra furrowed her brows. "I do not know. Likely the servants cleaned it and have not yet returned it to you. It is special, I take it?"

The elf nodded. "It was my mother's." There was a pause before she spoke again. "It is too cold to go as I am dressed, yes?"

Cassandra shook her head, which had been filling with questions about Zanneth's past. That simple statement bespoke heartbreaking truths. "I had them make sure to get you boots and a cloak that should fit. I would imagine they are in the armoire." Cassandra pointed to the corner. It could barely be called an armoire, made of rough, un-sanded wood as it was. But it was serviceable. Anything fancier would be entirely out of place in this remote mountain village, anyway.

"What happened to the boots I _had_?" Zanneth asked as she opened the wardrobe in the corner, pulling the sturdy footwear out with a look of distaste.

"I… do not know. Surely these will serve?"

"The Dalish do not wear these clunky things. How am I to climb a tree or feel the ground beneath my feet with these? The would make so much noise…"

Cassandra could only blink a few times. "I… had honestly not given it any thought…"

The elf frowned. "It is fine. This will do for the moment. But I would prefer _mine_ returned to me, along with my coat. And my weapons. Or did they not survive the blast?"

"You came to us with a beautifully carved bow and quiver, and a hunting knife of superb quality. They are stored in the Chantry for safekeeping. I believe Leliana even oiled them for you, having spent some time with a Dalish clan and learned from them some years ago. I will ensure all is returned to you."

"I… thank you," Zanneth said, expression softening. "I did not ever expect to meet a _shem_ capable of kindness or understanding."

"And _I_ did not expect an elf to be precisely the person we needed in this crisis. But come. We can be surprised by our own prejudices later. The others await our return."

Zanneth nodded, pulling on the boots and cloak in a hurry.

* * *

"Help us fix this, before it is too late."

Leliana watched Zanneth's face. Cassandra had just chased Chancellor Roderick out of the room by declaring the Inquisition reborn. Now she asked the elf to help them, join them, as an equal.

_I would not have done so. I would have coerced her in some way, convinced her to help but held a secret to her back like a knife to ensure she did not waver. Maker, what has become of me? I was not like this with Solona here, not unless absolutely necessary. She would be disgusted with me…_

The elf's face twitched, her eyes not straying from Cassandra's. Leliana could not for the life of her tell what Zanneth was thinking, which was odd. The former bard could generally read a person's face without fail.

The oddest thing, though, was the elf's hair. Leliana could barely take her eyes off of it. It was white, just as Solona's was. If only Solona were here to help suss out the reason. Leliana was sure it had something to do with the mark and the elf's journey through the Fade, but the spymaster was not herself a mage. She could only speculate. Solona might actually be able to find _answers_.

_What I wouldn't give to have Solona, Wynne, and yes, even Morrigan, gathered around this table, talking this problem through._

Finally, Zanneth took Cassandra's hand. "Alright. I will help you close the Breach. I will join your Inquisition, _shem_. As an equal."

"As an equal," Cassandra echoed, giving the elf's hand one firm shake. "Leliana," she said, turning fully to the Left Hand. "Gather the others. We have much to discuss.

Leliana was gone without a word, slipping out of the room and immediately going to Josphine and Revka's shared office. "Come, Josephine" she said upon entering. "The Inquisition has been officially declared, and the one they call the Herald has agreed to join it. It looks like we may yet be able to close the Breach."

Revka was on her feet as if spring-loaded, while Josephine was a bit more graceful. But both women began gathering paperwork immediately, scrambling over themselves as Leliana turned to exit once more. "Take your time, Josie," she said, a half-laugh in her voice. Josephine would be the only one joining her in the council chambers. "I still have to find Cullen."

_And since he is not currently in Revka's bed, there is only one place I need look…_

She left the Chantry thinking of the elf. She and Cassandra seemed to already have formed some kind of closeness. If it could even be called that. Certainly, Zanneth was warmer to the Seeker than anyone else. Perhaps it was merely that the two of them were incredibly alike, insofar as she could tell by mere observation.

_I should see if I can find anything out about her. She is of the People. It will be difficult. But information would likely be useful…_

Once at the gates to the village proper, Leliana spotted Cullen easily – his blonde, curly hair gave him away. Well, that and the missing arm. She waved for his attention, not liking to raise her voice with so many around. He came to her side immediately.

"We are meeting in the councilroom," she informed him. "The Inquisition is reborn. We have much to discuss."

He nodded, and she turned, not waiting for him to join her. He would pass orders to his soldiers and then be at her heels. She did not need to see it happen to know.

Leliana entered the councilroom several minutes later, just in time to see Cassandra and Zanneth speaking.

"It hurt at first," the elf was saying, "but it seems the mark stabilized with the Breach."

"That is Solas's thinking, as well. He believes that another attempt at sealing the Breach would succeed, but we need more power. As much power as was necessary to open it. That kind of power… it is difficult to come by with the Circles and templars in rebellion. And without Chantry support…"

"I have a lead on that front, actually," Leliana said, getting both their attention. _Does the door truly not creak? How did they not know I had already entered the room?_ "But first, we should all be properly introduced, yes?"

"Why am I not surprised you _already_ know something?" Cassandra asked. Leliana knew enough to know it was entirely rhetorical, and merely moved to the end of the table, where she would have an unhindered view of everyone's lips.

Cassandra began the introductions as soon as Cullen stepped through the door, Josephine at his heels. "This is Commander Cullen Rutherford, leader of the Inquisition's forces," Cassandra said.

"Such as they are," Cullen quipped. "We lost many, but we managed to hold out until you were able to stabilize the Breach, my lady. For which we are all grateful."

The elf's face twitched to be addressed as such.

"And this is Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat. You will meet her assistant outside, I am sure."

"_Andaran atish'an,_" Josephine said. Leliana barely held back a laugh. Leliana had taught that to her not three days ago. She must have rehearsed this moment many times. Josephine, ever the diplomat, had just greeted the Dalish elf with her own language. _You are good, Josie. You know just how to disarm **and** make her comfortable at the same time_.

"You speak elvhen?!" The elf's face showed her astonishment.

_That cut should have been healed_, Leliana thought to herself, watching as the scabs pulled with the elf's expression. _Damn Solas and Adan both. It would not have burdened either of them in any way to put a poultice on it, at the very least._

"You have… just heard the entirety of it, I'm afraid," Josephine admitted, smiling a little guiltily. Truly, she was a master at her craft, knew just how to situate herself with others.

"And of course, you know Sister Leliana, known as Sister Nightingale to the masses outside this building," Cassandra continued, before Josie could draw the elf into conversation. "It is important she be known only as Sister Nightingale when the two of you are not alone."

Leliana smirked. "My position here involves a degree of…"

"Leliana is our spymaster," Cassandra cut in, raising a brow toward the former bard.

Leliana shook her head, smiling. "Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra."

The elf merely nodded to her, expression unreadable. _What are you thinking, lethallan?_ The question sounded in her head in Mithra's voice. They had been close for years, as close as one can be with a friend one only sees every few years. They had met when Solona and her companions sought out the aid of the Dalish during the Blight. Mithra, a huntress with the clan, and Leliana had become close, and continued their friendship to this day through messages sent by hawk.

Meanwhile, Cassandra was continuing. "I mentioned that your mark required more power in order to close the Breach. We had some ideas…" _Here we go…_ The Argument, as Leliana had come to think of it. Do they approach the mages or the templars? Leliana said mages, Cullen said templars, Cassandra didn't seem to care so long as they had the power they needed, and Josephine tried to get them to agree on _any_ option so long as they agreed. They had been doing this dance for three days. Leliana had no interest in going twelve rounds with Cullen _yet again_ about the unreliability of the rebel mages, as he put it.

Before the argument could spiral too far, Josephine cut them all off. "Unfortunately, neither group will speak with us right now. I got word this morning – the Chantry has denounced those still in Haven, and _you_ specifically," she said, pointing her quill in Zanneth's direction.

"That did not take long," Cassandra commented. She said it so quickly that Leliana nearly missed it.

"Some are calling you, a Dalish elf, 'Herald of Andraste.' This frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and _we_ heretics for harboring you." The elf's face twitched at the news, but Leliana could not watch the elf _and_ see what everyone had to say.

"Chancellor Roderick's doing, no doubt," Cassandra spat.

"Wait. Just how am _I_ the Herald of Andraste?" Zanneth said, brows furrowed in confusion. "I am Dalish! I worship our Creators."

"People saw what you did at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Lady Herald," Leliana answered, holding her gaze. "They saw what you did to stop the Breach from growing, and they put it together with stories about how you came to us and decided you were sent here by the Bride of the Maker. Even if we tried to keep that view from spreading…"

"Which we have not," Cassandra clarified.

Leliana sighed. "The point is, _everyone_ is talking about you. They are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, _you_ are that sign."

"And to others, a sign of everything that's gone wrong," Josephine finished.

"So if I wasn't here…?" Zanneth began, looking to Cassandra for the answer.

"They would still have censured us. And you _not_ being here isn't an option. So it is not worth brooding over. The Chantry will do what it will. We cannot control them."

"There is something we can do, though," Leliana said.

"Ah, yes. This information you _already_ have," Cassandra said, raising an eyebrow in Leliana's direction.

Leliana smirked. "I am bringing a Chantry Mother here, by the name of Giselle. She is being escorted by those of my agents able to be spared from the Hinterlands. She is the revered mother of Redcliffe's Chantry, and she would speak with the Herald about those still in the Grand Cathedral. She will have names, and advice. I would listen to her, Lady Herald. See what she has to say. She is of Orlais and knows how the Great Game is played, but she purposefully went to Ferelden after the Blight so she could leave that life behind. She is possibly our best ally at this moment."

"And we know she is an ally?" Cassandra asked.

Leliana chuckled low. "As much as anyone can know. Certainly, she does not decry us outright from the beginning. That is more than anyone else. With her here, we gain legitimacy and have a Chantry presence from the priesthood. That is more than we have now, with just Roderick here."

The elf nodded after thinking for a moment. "Very well. I will speak with her, if you think I should. How long until she is here?"

"A week, at least. They cannot travel on the King's Road, as the fighting in the Hinterlands is especially concentrated. The rebel mages from Orlais took refuge in Redcliffe, you see. But they will make it here, and they will do so safely. I trust the people I have with her most highly."

"Very well. What do we do until then?"

It was Cassandra who answered, concern on her face. "We get you to eat, sleep, and be seen by our people as much as possible. You lost weight while that mark tried to kill you, and our people need the hope that seeing their Herald will provide."

"I do not prefer that title," Zanneth said, the distaste clear for all to see.

"It is part of what protects you, my lady," Josephine said. "You do not have to believe it is true, but if you allow the common person outside our doors to believe as they wish, they will sleep better at night. And the more people believe that of you, the less people think you guilty of opening the Breach in the first place. Play their role, my lady, at least for now. We are low in numbers. The only thing we have on our side is _you_."

The elf continued to look uncomfortable, but she nodded.

"I will write King Alistair," Leliana said, eyeing Cassandra. "Perhaps he has some soldiers who would answer the call to serve the Inquisition?"

"Certainly his coin would be welcome," Josephine said with a nod. "At this point, the fact that he would even be willing to hear from us without denouncing us would be welcome. Shall I have Revka write him, as well?"

Leliana pursed her lips. "Perhaps I will write the king, and she can write the _queen_. They will know what it is we do, but our personal history is such that I do not think they will mind us leaning on our connections. Alistair- the king knows what it is to accomplish something great from such humble beginnings."

"Very well. This meeting is adjourned," Cassandra said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "See to your duties. I will ensure the Herald has what she needs."

With murmured goodbyes, they left Cassandra and Zanneth alone in the council chambers.

* * *

_A/N: Bit of a long-winded chapter. But I know Cassandra's rambling thoughts on Leliana's history was stuff y'all wanted, so I really don't feel all that bad._

_Also I kind dropped a bomb there at the beginning, huh? :-D_


	7. Meeting The Circus

_A/N: Just to say that I am having so much goddamn fun writing this thing! I'm sure it'll slow down at some point, but for now... eeeeep!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_**Chapter 7: Meeting The Circus**_

Zanneth paced. She had kept to herself inside her cabin for two days, eating and sleeping and doing far too much thinking – and weeping. Now the idle time chafed at her. Apparently there was nothing for her to do. She was not accustomed to sitting still for so long. The rest was welcome at first, but now…

Making a decision, she grabbed her bow. She would venture into the hills, see if she could fell some game. It would help feed the refugees, the little children the elf had seen running through the mud, and it would give the elf something productive to do. She ought to inform Cassandra, so the _shemlen_ did not think she was running.

The thought _had_ occurred to her. But she had silenced it rather quickly. The Breach and the smaller rifts needed to be closed. If she did not do so… who would? If she ran back to her clan bearing this mark without doing something about the Breach, what would her grandmother think of her? If the Breach remained open, it threatened _every person_, human and elf and dwarf alike. By some twist of fate, Zanneth was the one to bear the mark that could close it. She had a duty to see this through.

_Then_ she would be gone. She would go back to her clan, and she would have this child, and she would go back to her life as a hunter. Until then… she was not accustomed to so much idleness.

Pulling on her mother's hunting coat, returned to her cleaned and oiled along with her soft leather-soled boots, Zanneth left her cabin, stepping out into the brisk, early evening air. If she hurried, she might be able to catch a few hares before everyone had gone off to bed.

"Your Worship!"

Zanneth stopped dead in her tracks. A flat-ear elf had stopped and thrown herself to the ground in front of Zanneth, tossing out that strange honorific as she did so. Others began stopping, some kneeling, others prostrate on the ground, shouts of "Herald!" and "Your Worship!" rising all around her.

_What do I do?! What do I say?!_

"I think that's enough, everyone! Let the Herald take a damn walk without trying to trip her!" The voice was familiar. _The dwarf… what was his name?_

As the crowd began to disperse, the dwarf from the mountain approached her. He wore a lopsided grin and had his crossbow folded upon his back. "You can hardly blame them. I mean, you're the Herald of Andraste! You saved them! We stared at that hole in the sky, held off demons, and watched our friends die for their trouble. Then you woke up and waved your fingers and the rifts closed and the Breach stopped growing. Just like magic."

"I am no mage," Zanneth said, cocking her head to the side. "What are you getting at?"

He just chuckled a little. "I just meant that they're grateful. You kept more people from dying. Now they can relax, start rebuilding, take stock of their families, and probably a whole bunch of other stuff I don't really do, bachelor that I am. All thanks to you."

"I'm not trying to be a hero."

"But you're here, the only one with that mark, nonetheless. We need you. But that doesn't mean all of this isn't overwhelming. How are you doing? I hear it was rough there for a day or two while you were unconscious."

Zanneth was rocked for a moment. No one, not even Cassandra, who had treated her with the most kindness so far – at least, after her initial outburst – had asked her how she felt.

"I… am alright."

He chuckled. "No you're not. But go ahead and be stoic, that's fine. It's certainly what Cassandra and the rest of them need from you publicly. The people do need to see you strong and unbroken. But just keep in mind that those walls are thick. I know you've been weeping."

She opened her mouth to say something, but he held up his hands in placation. "I don't mean anything by it! I just meant that I know you're hurting, and I can't blame you. This has to be confusing. You're away from your family, from your people, from life as you know it, and a bunch of human assholes are expecting you to save the world. _Or else_, knowing the Seeker…"

Zanneth jutted out a hip, crossing her arms. "You seem to know a lot about all of this. And about how I feel."

He shrugged, moving to sit on a rock only a few feet from her door. "I'm a storyteller. You can't tell good stories without paying attention. And nobody cares about a story in which there's no feeling. Stoicism is great and all, but the feeling underneath? _That's_ what people want to hear about. People pressing on _despite_ their fears and worries."

Zanneth regarded the dwarf with a newfound respect. He was a storyteller? He likely did not tell the sorts of stories the lorekeeper of her clan told, but even still. Sitting and listening around a fire was one of the few ways to pass the time in camp. She missed it dearly. As much as she usually kept to herself, she was generally never alone. The past two nights of staring into her fire until she fell asleep had taken their toll.

"What was your name, again?"

He smiled. "Varric Tethras. You can just call me Varric. And you're Zanneth, right?"

She nodded, feeling a smile pull at her lips. It was the first time she had smiled since before waking up in the dungeons. "Yes. Will you tell me a story, Varric? I find myself… out of my element here. A story would be… quite welcome."

He grinned, hopping to his feet. "Sure! What kind of story would you like? I know some Dalish legends, but I imagine you know those way better than me." He scratched his chin, staring up at her for a moment as he thought. "I know! You wouldn't know anything about the Champion of Kirkwall, would you?"

"My clan is near the Free Marches – the name has been whispered on the wind. But I know nothing more than the name."

His grin widened. "Perfect! Means you can't catch me in a lie!" He began walking, guiding her without her realizing it so that she ambled by his side.

_I meant to go hunting…_

Zanneth allowed it. More than anything, she had been looking for something to do, and now that she had the companionship, she found it was exactly what she needed.

"Now, it really began ten years ago, during the Blight here in Ferelden, when the darkspawn forces finally caught up to the villages in the Hinterlands…"

* * *

The evening winds stirred up Revka's skirts. She looked down upon them only to internally cringe.

Mud.

It was everywhere. The village hovered at the edge of freezing, the snow melting during the hottest and sunniest part of the day and mixing with the dirt to create endless mud. The soil was rocky, which kept the ground walkable, but it meant that everywhere one went one tracked _mud, _and then slipped about on the ice come morning.

_I am a seamstress. I should make myself some different kind of dress. Oh! Like that one Josephine wore when I met her! The skirts barely went past her knees, and underneath she had some kind of decorative hose. It was beautiful, and tasteful. Absolutely something we could meet with the nobility in. And remain mudless._

The young woman sighed. She would never have the time to make something like that from scratch, not with all the work she had been doing. Perhaps she could instruct a seamstress among the serving staff…

Looking back up, Revka saw the dwarf Cassandra had dragged to Haven from Kirkwall meandering through the refugee camp the village had become. At his side walked the new arrival with the mark, the one they called Andraste's Herald. Revka had not yet met the young woman. If she could judge things right, the Dalish elf was likely around Revka's own age.

_Her hair is growing in white…_

An image flashed in her mind, of Solona when Revka first met her. She had been fifteen years old, and she had been shocked to open the door after hearing a knock to a tall giant of a woman. The most startling thing about the woman had been her _hair_. It was bright white, long and smooth. Despite being half a head taller than Revka herself, however, looking into the woman's face had been like placing a mirror before her eyes. Solona had the same dark skin and the same pale grey eyes as both Revka and her brother, Derek.

Her own shock was nothing compared to her mother's, however. The woman came around the corner of the tiny hallway and blanched.

"_Hello, Mother," the stranger says, eyes fixed on Revka's mother._

"_S- Solona?! What are you doing here?!"_

_The stranger's white brows crease. "I stole free of the Circle and seek my family. Surely you would invite me inside? It is quite cold out here."_

"_Revka, go stir the porridge!" her mother snaps._

_Revka runs to do her mother's bidding, all the while wondering at the stranger calling her mother "Mother."_

Solona had stayed the day, eating a hearty bowl of porridge before going to the market with Revka and Derek. They had never been told they had a sister! Revka had nearly died of joy to spend time with the grown woman. She asked all manner of questions about the Circle, about the glamour of casting spells, and asking for spells to be cast right then and there. When they came back for the evening, she had asked her mother why they had kept Solona a secret, and her mother had merely said that that was what the Chantry encouraged. You would not see your children once they go to the Circle, so just move on with life and pretend as though that child had not happened.

It didn't seem fair to Revka, but Solona was there now. They could be a family yet.

_Revka awakens to a muffled scream. Her eyes snap open, and she is on her feet in a moment, scampering down the stairs to the kitchen, where her sister is asleep on a travel roll on the floor. Only Solona is not there any longer. Revka watches, holding her breath, as templars bind and gag Solona before dragging her away._

_Their parents watch from in front of the hearth. They look only relieved._

Derek was younger; had swallowed the lies their parents told them about Solona deciding to leave in the night. They spoke awful things about her, about mages. Mages belong in Circles, they said, for the safety of all. It was best to pretend as though they had never met the woman.

Revka had seen, though. Revka had seen Solona dragged away against her will. Her parents _lied_. What else had they lied about, she wondered. She spent the next year in the Chantry library, asking questions and finding as many answers as she could. In the meantime, her parents promised her as a bride to a templar recruit, Orson. She was uncomfortable with the decision, but it was her parents' right, and there was little she could do about it. What else would she do when she reached her majority? She could not support herself, and her parents would not allow her to stay with them.

Solona had fixed that problem for her. The mage had ridden in to Denerim with Arl Eamon's household, hair shorn, face permanently marked. Orson had tried to "save" Revka from the "foul apostate," and been thoroughly dumped on his ass. Solona had then had Revka placed into King Alistair's service and that, as they said, was that.

Revka had not spoken to her parents for any length of time since. She had tried writing Derek, but he continued to side with them. Good riddance. She was doing far more now than she ever would have had she stayed with them.

Still. Sometimes, late at night or early in the morning, she missed her mother's singing.

She missed her sister more, however. Where the devil had she disappeared to?

Revka shook herself of her reverie. _I see white hair and all I can think of is my sister. That's going to become bothersome_. Making an impulsive decision, Revka began trotting forward.

"Varric! Herald!" she called, getting their attention. Both the dwarf and the elf stopped, turning to see who called after them.

"Ah! You're in luck, Lady Amell! I was just telling the Herald the story of the Champion! Zanneth, this lovely lady before you is related to more than one famous person."

Revka smirked. "I can introduce myself just fine, Varric."

"Ah, but you would be so boring about it."

Ignoring him, Revka addressed their Dalish guest. "I am Revka Amell, Your Worship," she said with a curtsey. "I assist Lady Montilyet in all matters diplomatic."

Varric sighed. "Just like I said…"

The elf's brows furrowed. "I… am Zanneth, of the Lavellan Clan. What does he mean?"

Before Revka could elaborate, Varric was doing it for her. "She's cousin to the Champion, Herald! _Not to mention_, she's sister to the Hero of Ferelden! Wormed her way all the way up from humble peasant in Denerim to Ferelden's ambassador in the court of Orlais! And now she assists Lady Montilyet with the Inquisition. Can't help but think that one's a step down, Lady Amell."

The elf's eyes widened, at which fact, Revka did not know. "That's… an impressive family," the elf said.

Revka giggled. "I suppose we are. Though I hardly had anything to do with either the Blight _or_ Kirkwall."

"Be thankful for the second one," Varric muttered.

Shaking her head, Revka began walking. "Might I join you on your walk? I have been inside all day and could use a stretch of my legs."

Zanneth merely inclined her head. She really seemed to be the quiet type. _Put her and Leliana in a room and all you'd hear would be crickets…_

"You don't need an excuse to go walking, you know," Varric said. Something was funny about his tone. If Revka didn't know any better, she was about to be thoroughly teased… "We all know what you really want is an excuse to go beyond the gates and see Curly in action."

Ah. Yes. She should have seen that one coming.

"I am not looking for an excuse to watch the soldiers," Revka said, her face growing hot.

Varric snorted. "We all saw you run into his arms the other day, Lady Amell. And his walls are not thick."

Revka's flush spread, her whole body becoming over-warm. "Really, Varric!"

He chuckled, throwing a wink at both women. "Our fearless ambassador here has been spending time with our Commander Cullen, Herald. I expect a proposal any day now."

Revka huffed. "I think that's quite enough gossip, Varric! Oh, why don't you sod off somewhere? Let ladies be ladies for a while without a _man_ around mucking things up." She said the last with a pointed glare.

The dwarf snickered. "Alright, alright. I know when I'm not wanted. Enjoy the show," he said over his shoulder, veering off away from them toward the tavern.

"Ugh," Revka said, shaking her long hair free of her cloak. "That man has many good stories, but he is a shameless flirt, and a merciless _tease_."

"He is pleasant enough company. Though I don't think I've ever heard one person talk so much in one breath in my life."

Revka giggled. "You have just summed him up perfectly!"

"Is what he said true? You are cousins to the Champion? I scarcely believed his tale of her."

"_Most_ of it is true, though it is wise to take his stories with a grain of salt. _That_ part is true, however I have never personally met Messere Hawke. I hear she is a great deal like my sister."

"The Hero of Ferelden?"

Revka smirked. "Yes. Though she _loathes_ that title with a bloody passion. I think King Alistair bestowed it on her out of spite, to be honest."

"They are close enough to jest?"

Revka smiled. "They are brother and sister in all but blood."

The elf furrowed her brows as they ambled toward the gate. "There is some other kind besides blood?"

Revka shrugged. "They are bound by the taint in their blood. The king used to be a Grey Warden, as well as my sister, though neither is part of the Order any longer. Their relationship is forged in the fire and blood of their struggle. As is ours, I suppose. Solona fought to know me, and I was faced with a choice. I chose her and Sister Leliana, King Alistair and Queen Elissa and all their lovely friends, over my parents and my brother."

The elf seemed shocked, though it was a subdued expression compared to the same one on another's face. "Why would you leave your _family_?"

"Sometimes our family is a given," Revka explained, stopping and looking over at the Breach. Its sick green light was also beautiful. She wished she understood it like her sister would have. "Sometimes we must choose. My parents and my brother abhor magic and its users. They surrendered my sister to the Circle before I was born, never telling my brother nor I of her existence. We only learned because she sought us out. When the time came to choose… I chose my sister. Her love was unconditional. I could not bear to spend any more time with people who would do what they did to her. How she came out of the experience so kind, I'll never know."

Revka's eyes moved to the Herald. "But you did not seek my ramblings on magic and my family when you ventured out of your cabin. You sought company, and perhaps exercise?"

The elf nodded, her expression neutral. "I don't mind learning a little about the people here. It is… lonely, away from my clan." Her face twitched, as if those words held a great deal more meaning than it seemed at first glance, but Revka could not begin to guess what it could be.

"Well. Why don't we walk and chat some more? I'm a people-person, if you recall. I adore making new friends, Lady Herald."

Distaste at the title evident on her face, Zanneth nonetheless agreed, walking with Revka through the gates. The former ambassador had given up all pretense. She did, indeed, wish to go watch Cullen berate and encourage his troops by turns.

* * *

Zanneth watched as Cassandra lunged. The warrior held a wooden longsword, dull and heavy for practice, and she brought it sweeping toward Commander Cullen's head.

"Maker!" The elf cast a glance to the taller woman by her side, the one who was cousin to the Champion of Kirkwall and the Hero of Ferelden. _Revka is her name. I should remember that. She holds a position of some importance; assistant to the ambassador. And the ambassador seemed to know a great deal about how the outside world works. Indeed, her performance in her office with that Orlesian nobelman the day we met… I could never navigate these shemlen social circles. _

Revka had her hand to her mouth, watching with rapt attention as Cassandra beat upon the commander. He did block her assault, but it was clear he was barely keeping up. _Cullen and Revka are paramours. What does that mean? Are they betrothed? Varric said he __**expected**__ a proposal. Does that mean they have not promised themselves to the other? How does human courtship work?_

"Cullen look out!" the human shouted, gasping and wincing in sympathy as Cassandra's sword lashed out, hitting the stump of the man's arm. He yelled, losing his balance and falling. His arm was likely incredibly sensitive. He needed to learn not to let that hinder him. Pressing her advantage, Cassandra soon had a boot on his chest and her sword in his face.

Zanneth was struck by her pose – back tall and straight, arm stretched before her with sword held fast inches above the commander's throat. She exuded strength – indeed, that sword was likely twice as heavy as Zanneth's bow – and the elf found herself admiring the woman's might. She had seen it in action, had stood behind that strength and been protected by it, trusted that strength to keep her standing while she poured her last ounce of energy into closing the Breach. The woman might have been a _shem_, but Zanneth could not deny that she was a _shem_ of strength and conviction.

Zanneth admired both qualities.

"You are missing your arm, not your brain!" Cassandra declared, sword still held to Cullen's throat. The commander's head turned the slightest bit, and Cassandra's eyes followed, landing on Revka, amusement pulling at the corners of her lips. "Ah. Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps you lost all ability to think when your paramour came to watch? The blood drained away from your head, did it?"

Cullen groaned. In order to catch himself, he had let go of his sword, and was now thoroughly beaten. "I yield," he groaned, causing Revka to giggle.

"Oh, but he is a sore loser," the young woman at Zanneth's side whispered. "He will be so grumpy for the rest of the night."

Cassandra pulled her sword away, and offered a hand. Cullen took it and he was on his feet a moment later, retrieving his practice sword from the ground.

"You are still a very skilled swordsman, Cullen," Cassandra said. The two were headed toward where Zanneth and Revka stood watching. You are accustomed to a shield on your arm, and you try to use it to protect yourself. Keep your arm at your side. It is sensitive. You hold it out from your body and it is a glaring weakness. You must learn to use your sword as a shield, at times, as well."

Cullen sighed, shaking his head. "I know, Seeker. But knowing in my head and knowing in my hands… _hand_. They are different."

"Well," Cassandra said, the corners of her lips again pulling up in what was becoming familiar as the only smile Cassandra ever gave. "I would be happy to keep beating the lesson into you in front of your recruits."

The commander huffed out a laugh, shaking his head once more. "I think I've had enough of your beatings for today, Cassandra. Thank you for your time, however. I appreciate it."

The warrior woman inclined her head. "It is no problem, Cullen."

Zanneth watched the entire exchange silently, hands clasped behind her back. Revka, however, rushed forward, fussing over the commander just as a mother might a child. "I am fine, Revka, really."

Cassandra shook her head as the couple began walking back to the village. Her warm brown eyes found Zanneth's, and the elf found herself suddenly and inexplicably warm, despite the chill in the mountain air. "That woman has had her sights on the commander since the moment Leliana brought her to Haven. It will not be long before they are married, I would imagine."

Zanneth cocked her head to the side. "They have not known each other long?"

Cassandra shook her head in the negative, holding out her hand in an invitation to walk together. Zanneth took it. "Revka and Josephine only arrived in Haven a few months ago. I wasn't even here yet. But Cullen and Leliana were. And Revka… well. By the time I arrived, she was already bedding him. Clearly he didn't stand a chance against her."

Zanneth found herself smiling. Just a little, but, again, it was one of the first smiles she remembered since before this whole mess began.

They walked in silence toward the gate. It was a peaceful silence, open and amiable, not awkward and stilted like it used to be with Sinna, or anyone who was not her brother or her grandmother. _Think of something else, Zanneth. Anything else. You cannot shed tears out here. This is your burden to bear on your own._

Before she could fight the internal war with her emotions further, a shout went up from the sentry at the gate.

"Soldiers approach, Seeker!"

Cassandra spun on her heel, foregoing the gate, holding her practice sword up as though it were an actual weapon. Zanneth didn't doubt that, if pressed, the _shem_ could easily defend herself with the thing. "How many? Do they bear a standard?"

"No standard," the sentry said, looking down at her as he spoke. "There are at least a hundred of them, Seeker!"

"To arms!" Cassandra shouted. As Zanneth strung her bow, she was struck by how the warrior expected those around her to listen and obey, and also at how those around her did indeed listen and obey. Milling soldiers, sentries, and even Cullen and Revka ran forward, taking up whatever weapons were available. Zanneth did note that Revka did not bear any weapons, but still she ran forward to meet whatever threat came upon them. _Impressive, that she meets it despite any fear she might hold._

Less than a minute passed before the sentry was speaking again. "They have a baggage train, Seeker. And they march slowly, peacefully. No weapons are drawn."

Cassandra nodded. "Understood."

"What does that mean?" Zanneth found herself asking.

"I can't be sure. Though the fact they are not charging and bring their baggage with them is likely good news. Raiders and bandits do not bring these things with them. It would slow them down, and risk them losing supplies. But that does not mean we know they mean something _good_. It is best to be wary. Stay by my side."

Zanneth nodded, hurrying forward with the warrior. Cullen and Revka both were only a few paces behind.

As soon as Zanneth could see a figure in the distance, Cassandra was shouting. "Identify yourselves!"

Zanneth heard the answer as clear as day. No one else seemed to hear, however. "Lady Herald," Revka said, getting her attention. "Am I right in assuming you possess the sharper hearing of your race that humans do not? What were those words?"

Zanneth blinked a few times, processing the request. Could the _shemlen_ truly not hear that response? "They… they said 'The Iron Bull's Chargers of Orlais,' though I do not know what it means."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "It is a mercenary group. I know of them. They have an honorable reputation, despite being led by a qunari rebel."

"Qunari?" Zanneth asked. She had never heard of these people.

"Followers of the Qun," Cassandra explained. "The race is also called qunari, though I believe they call themselves something else when not referring to the philosophy. I do not know much about them. Leliana will know more."

"I do not like this," Cullen said warily.

"Calm yourself, Cullen. Just as not all mages are like those who held you captive, not all qunari are like those who attacked Kirkwall. I am sure if the Qun was brought to these lands, it would not be on the lips of a Tal-Vashoth leading a mercenary band out of Orlais."

They had only to wait a few minutes before Zanneth got a good look at what a qunari might be.

Her first impression could be summed up in a single word: _big_. The figure at the head of the band of fighters stood a full head taller than even the tallest of those following him. From his head sprouted two long, pointed horns, traveling out to the side before turning up in a point. As the group got closer, Zanneth could see that he had a patch over one eye and a very large weapon of some kind strapped to his back, two long knives at each hip. His chest was bare, his legs covered only in leather breeches meeting calf-high boots.

He came to stand before them, a slight smirk on his face. "What brings a group such as yourself to Haven, qunari?" Cassandra asked, practice sword held loosely at her side, nonthreatening but ready to come up at a moment's notice.

The giant man merely grinned, eyes traveling immediately to Zanneth. Addressing the elf, he said simply, "I am The Iron Bull. My men – and women – are at your disposal, Herald."


	8. The Left Hand

_A/N: Allo! So this took a bit longer than I would have liked because it came to me in spurts. I literally wrote each piece and then rearranged its order and went back through to make sure the timeline still checked out. One section was even tacked on to the beginning of the last chapter at first, but it wasn't related to it at all so I moved it. It also took longer because, as an adult nearing 30... I finally got braces. And you know what? Fuck braces. I'm over it. When do they come off? Two **years**?! Fuuuuuuuuuuuu... So last weekend was baconpalooza, and anything else I knew it would be a while before I could eat comfortably. And then Monday braces. Poor Raven Sinead. I've been bitching and moaning about it nonstop. _

_Speaking of Raven Sinead, I would like to congratulate her for finishing **This Side of Tomorrow**! That feeling when you hit the "complete" button... it's so good, and no one in your real life gives a shit because it's fanfiction. But it's such an accomplishment! So I want to raise a glass to her with all of you, because I've been here through it with her and I am so proud of her for persevering through all the shit in her life to fucking **finish it**. Cheers, lady!_

_Anyway, I apologize for the murdered feels of the last chapter (a couple of people have mentioned their murdered feels specifically, even in review on other things of mine). I'm not sure that this one will make your feels any better, but it should answer a few questions. So that's good, right?_

_Onward!_

* * *

_**Chapter 8: The Left Hand**_

Max and Bella, the two mabari hounds she had always at her side, perked up their big heads, informing Leliana that someone was approaching behind her. Turning, she saw that it was the Herald, Cassandra, and… a qunari? Choosing not to speak in front of the stranger, Leliana merely raised an eyebrow at Cassandra in question.

"This is the Iron Bull," Cassandra said. Her face showed… amusement, as well as a slight undertone of worry.

Leliana did not miss how the warrior stood a little closer to their elven Herald than perhaps she truly needed to. _Interesting…_ It appeared that the elf and the warrior both had an affinity for the other, even if neither of them knew it.

Cassandra's eyes flicked up to the giant qunari male, her brows furrowing. She moved just an inch or two closer to the elf, putting herself bodily between the qunari and the Herald. Leliana barely kept from smiling. _How adorable. Cassandra is feeling protective. But… why? Five days ago she was nearly ready to behead this young woman. Perhaps she merelyused scare tactics in order to get a confession?_

"I'm in charge of a mercenary company," the qunari explained. "I brought soldiers to boost your numbers and help train new recruits, and supplies to offset what you no doubt lost after the explosion."

Leliana nodded. She still wasn't sure if she should speak. Looking to Cassandra, she lifted her eyebrow in question once more. The Seeker sighed. "We could use his help. Desperately. We are low on supplies, and the pilgrims come with almost nothing. It will take weeks for shipments to start coming from the favors Lady Montilyet is calling in. The Iron Bull's reputation puts him as a man of his word. The Chargers—the mercenary company—have a sterling reputation as sell-swords go. He wants payment of course, but is satisfied getting that payment once we ourselves can do more than feed our people. I say we accept his help—provided we do not find some reason to distrust him."

The qunari smirked at Cassandra's words. Leliana narrowed her eyes. He was far too… _normal_…to be Tal-Vashoth.

"I would speak with him alone," she finally said.

The giant man's ears twitched at the sound of her voice, but that was the only sign he gave that she might sound different from the expected. Cassandra nodded, moving away, Zanneth following. The elf, as seemed to be her way, had stayed silent through the entire exchange.

"I was wondering about the hounds as we walked up. They act as your ears, don't they? Hear and see people approach, get your attention, and protect you if you need it. And they're mabari, so no one could win their loyalty with a bit of sausage." The qunari crossed his arms as he sat on a particularly tall and solid crate. "It's genius, really. And it doesn't even make you look deaf. I'm impressed."

"You are not Tal-Vashoth," Leliana said without preamble, neither confirming nor denying The Iron Bull's assertions. "You are Ben-Hassrath. Why do I want Ben-Hassrath in the Inquisition's camp?"

He grinned. "Damn, you're good! Yeah, I'm Ben-Hassrath. And you want me because I bring supplies and soldiers. I can also act as a personal punching bag and bodyguard for your Herald. I hear she's a Dalish hunter, but has to get fairly close to the rifts to interact with them. Dalish hunters… they're not good for much up-close. It's kind of the point of being a hunter."

Leliana leaned back, brow raised. "Now it is _my_ turn to praise how well-informed you are."

He just shrugged. "Knowing she's Dalish is written on her face. As far as the rest of it… I listen. People talk. They think I'm too big to be of much use with my head. We started heading this way when we saw the giant rip in the sky. I heard things on the way."

Leliana nodded. Not everyone who had come for the Conclave remained in Haven. The Iron Bull could easily have overheard what had happened in a tavern or pub. Or a brothel, perhaps? He did look like the type who would frequent one should his need... arise.

"How did you know I'm Ben-Hassrath? Besides by being the spymaster of this entire operation."

"It takes a good spy to know one, yes? I have known a qunari Sten. I have met Tal-Vashoth Sten. You are like neither. And given that the qunari fill roles, one is much like the other until you get to know the individual better. You simply… do not fit either role. You are far too individual from the start."

He nodded. "Good. It's because of your familiarity with the qunari, and not something I did outright, then?"

Leliana conceded with a tilt of her head. "Indeed, it is as you say."

"Well, you should know that in exchange for passing on reports of the Inquisition to my superiors, I plan to share troop movements and demon sightings from the Ben-Hassrath with you."

Leliana narrowed her eyes. "I see. This was agreed-upon with the Herald?"

He laughed. "The only words she said to me, in fact! Said I needed to run anything I wanted to send by _you_."

"And?"

He shrugged. "I have no problem with that."

Leliana nodded. "Very well. Bring me whatever you have. I will turn down no one if it ends this chaos."

"That is a sentiment the Ben-Hassrath share, Red."

Leliana's brows tried to meet her hairline at that. "Red?"

"Yeah. You know, your hair. I… _might_ have a thing for red-heads. Don't worry. I've read the tale, and I read between the lines well. You belong to the Hero of Ferelden! I hear she's a real powerhouse. I wouldn't _dream_ of stepping on her territory."

"You forget I would also need to _want_ you to."

He grinned, scratching the back of his neck. "That, too. See? I know when my advances aren't wanted. I can do strictly professional. With you, at least."

"I appreciate that. Now, if there is nothing further?" Bull shook his head. "Good. I will leave you to help aid the refugees, then. Maker knows they can use it."

He nodded, sliding off the crate. "I look forward to working with you all. Things are pretty shitty right now, but you're a smart bunch. And you have the Herald. I'd rather throw my lot in with you than anyone else."

He walked away without another word, back tall and straight, dwarfing his own weapon, which would be far too large for Leliana to even try to lift. Shaking her head, the spymaster turned back to her reports.

* * *

"_You are my greatest love, Leliana."_

_Leliana giggles. "I am your __**only**__ love, Solona. Unless there is some lovely maiden I don't know about?"_

"_Well, your friend Josephine does keep giving me the eye…"_

_Leliana delivers a playful smack to the mage's rump. Solona's eyes flash, and she tackles the bard, pinning her to the bed before her fingers press to Leliana's ribs._

"_You wicked thing! You would not!"_

"_I would!" Solona declares, eyes afire with mischief as she gazes down on the bard. Her fingers dig in, and Leliana squeals with laughter, trying desperately to get away. The mage is relentless, however, tickling Leliana until she is so sensitive that even the slightest touch has her nerves on fire. _

_The caress changes. Solona's fingers are searching, searching, pressing and sliding and pinching. It is with a sigh of delight and contentment that Leliana greets the mage's lips. Solona presses inside of her, slides her body along the bard's, and all is right in the world. They move together, kissing, embracing, dancing this dance of lovers in the dead of night._

_Later, much later, Leliana traces the pattern of Solona's tattoo, eyes roving over the familiar landscape of her lover's face. Lines are beginning to appear around her eyes. Leliana's love is always smiling, always laughing, and the lines are on proud display whenever she does. This face is beloved to Leliana. She does not know what she would do were its owner to disappear from this world._

"_I'm leaving."_

_Leliana's heart kicks. "What?"_

_Solona takes her hand, kissing it before sitting up. "The Divine gave me a directive. I must do this thing. It is important."_

_Leliana is panicking. She cannot do this. She cannot do her duty without Solona here. The Divine __**knows**__ this. "What is this mission?"_

_Solona shakes her head. She looks sad. It is a dangerous mission, then. "I cannot say. What you don't know… I am sworn to secrecy. I am… I am sorry, my love."_

"_I…"_

_The mage draws Leliana into her lap, and the bard allows it. She promised long ago that she would not withhold her affection as punishment. That is what children do. They are not children._

_Still, she is hurt. "Why have you told me this now, Solona?" she asks, head tucked under the mage's chin. They both face the same direction and she cannot see her lover's lips._

_Solona's hands begin moving in the moonlight, gesturing in the peculiar way they learned at the home for the deaf in Val Royeaux. {I received the directive today. She gave me one night with you, my love, so that I might say a proper goodbye. But come first light, I must away.}_

_Leliana thinks for a moment. "It has to do with Kirkwall?"_

_A pause. {Yes.}_

"_I do not like this."_

_{I know, my love. But… I must. It is my duty.}_

"_Damn your duty! Your duty was to the wardens, and they relieved you of your position! What further duty must the world ask of you?!"_

_Solona, ever-calm with Leliana, merely sighs. Leliana can feel it in the warm body pressed into her own. {I knew what I was doing when I swore myself to Justinia's service. __**This**__ is my duty now. And you know it.}_

_Leliana purses her lips. Damn her, Solona is right. She is right whether or not Leliana likes it, whether or not Leliana accepts it, and whether or not Leliana chooses to use this time they have together. She sighs. "When are you coming back?"_

_{I do not know.}_

_Leliana nods. She suspected as much. There would not be this much ado over a trip of a few weeks. "Can you take one of my falcons with you?"_

_{I don't see why not. As long as we are discreet in our messages.}_

_Leliana nods once more. After a few moments of just sitting together, she suddenly surges up, turning around and burying her fingers in her lover's short hair. If this is to be their last night together for the foreseeable future, she would not waste it wishing it would not be so. It would be so no matter what she wished. _

_She kisses Solona, raking her nails over the woman's scalp and swallowing her cries. She pushes her to the mattress, straddling her back, raising welts on the mage's back with her nails. She will make this a night to remember for days to come._

Leliana sat up, sweat running in rivulets down her face. Her hair was stuck to her cheeks. Cassandra sat on the bed in front of her, both hands upon the spymaster's shoulders. Leliana should barely be able to see, as it was normally pitch-black in the room in which they all slept, there being no windows. Josephine stood in the center of the room, a candle in-hand, brows drawn together in concern.

"Leliana, you were thrashing in your sleep," Cassandra explained. "Are you alright?"

Leliana shook her head free of the images. They were of Solona, naked and writhing beneath her touch. Why did these images now serve as nightmares and not as a comfort? "I am alright. I dreamt of…"

"Solona," Cassandra said, understanding in her eyes.

"Do not look at me with such pity," Leliana spat, turning and pulling the comforter over her, ensuring she would not see anything more of what they might have to say.

She should not have snapped at her friends. They were all she had left. She should not alienate them. But she couldn't help it. She loathed that look of concern, of pity, of sad understanding. She just wanted the world back as it was. Instead she lost Solona, lost Dorothea, and she barely even knew what her purpose was anymore. These were the hard moments, when she could not throw herself into her role, analyze information, meet with agents, and terrify the servants with her silence. She could not take Cassandra and Josephine's pity right now.

They would have to understand.

Max and Bella quivered upon the floor on the opposite side of the bed from Cassandra and Josie. Giving a small pat, she invited the dogs up, and it was with tears gathering in her eyes that Leliana buried her face in their fur, taking what comfort she could from their warmth and their nearness.

* * *

_The puppy squirms and yips. At least, Leliana assumes it yips and whines. She, of course, cannot hear if it does or not._

"_What is this?"_

"_A puppy, Leliana," Solona says, flat._

_Leliana rolls her eyes. "I know __**that**__. Why do you have a puppy?"_

_Solona places the puppy in Leliana's lap. "She is Max's pick of the litter. I told him to choose a good dog for __**you**__, and this is the one he chose."_

_The puppy's body squirms and wriggles as it begins sniffing, immediately burying its nose between Leliana's legs. She giggles and grabs up the tiny thing, holding it up so she can see the puppy's adorable little belly._

"_Why do I get a mabari hound?"_

"_Well, Max has been so helpful to you. He sits where you can always see him and alerts you if someone approaches. But he is not always with you. You need a companion that can help you at all times, whether or not I leave Max with you."_

_Leliana looks over to Max, who sits next to Solona, head cocked to the side. "You want me protected, Max?"_

_He chuffs, rump wiggling. He then gets up, stepping forward and giving the wriggling puppy in Leliana's hands a quick lick. The little baby sneezes, then looks up at Leliana with the sweetest of large, brown eyes. Leliana lets it go, and it crawls up her torso, snuffling into her throat and then her ear._

_She squeals._

"_Good," Solona says, beaming. "Love at first sight. What do you want to call her?"_

"_Bella," Leliana says, pulling the puppy away from her ear and burying her own face in the ruffles of its neck. The puppy is soft and warm, smelling faintly of milk and hay. It is likely fresh from her mother._

"_Bella it is. Now, let us get Bella outside before she-"_

_Solona cuts herself off when Leliana yelps, holding the now-peeing puppy away from herself. Raising an eyebrow up at Solona, she says, "Perhaps Max can help with training?"_

_Solona laughs, shakes her head, and takes the freshly-emptied pup from her. "Come on, Max. Let's let Leliana clean up and teach this little girl how the big dogs do it, shall we?"_

_He chuffs, nuzzling at the puppy's ear before trotting out of the room ahead of Solona._

_Leliana sighs. It will be worth it to train the dog, but she sincerely hopes it doesn't piss on her again._

Leliana walked through camp with Max and Bella at either side. They walked just in the field of her vision, ever-vigilant, their tall, twitching ears alerting the spymaster to any goings-on she could not herself detect. It also kept her from constantly having to turn her head and scan her surroundings like someone mad or paranoid. She didn't look normal per se—the average person did not walk everywhere she went with two giant mabari hounds at her heels – but it did the job of masking her disability from those who might seek to take advantage of it.

They were also cherished companions.

The arrival the Bull's Chargers had done wonders for the camp, truly. They brought food and other supplies with them, as well as hearty, healthy fighters who were not beaten down by the explosion and subsequent downpour of demons. The boost in morale was evident everywhere one looked: children running and playing, no longer hungry; injured and downtrodden soldiers up and exercising; and previously untrained pilgrims choosing to learn how to bear weapons for the Inquisition. The Chargers were inserted into the regular guard rotation, allowing weary and dirty soldiers some much-needed rest. Food and blankets and clothing were circulated, and within days Haven had become a thriving village once more.

In addition, Leliana's agents were more active. Several falcons had returned to the spymaster with news. It was heartening to have her connection to the rest of the world once more. She would need to train more of the birds of prey, but what she had now would do. They would be overworked, but the creatures were clever and could hunt and care for themselves. And they moved much more quickly and stealthily than couriers could.

Mother Giselle should be in Haven within days, according to her reports from Lace Harding. She had a company of scouts out looking to secure a way through the Frostbacks from Ferelden to Orlais so that she could move agents even during the winter while staying away from the main roads. Her spies in the Empress's household staff had reported in that all was quiet and unchanged in Orlais—no surprise there. If it did not affect the nobility directly, they tended to view the oddities of the outside world as unimportant. A poor tactic on their part, but Leliana was happy to exploit it, given the chance.

The Herald could be seen wandering the camp, sometimes with Varric, other times with Revka or Cassandra. _I should ask their opinion on the Herald…_ Leliana had not yet had the chance to really speak with the Dalish elf. She was far too busy with her reports, with strategizing with Cassandra and Cullen, or sitting with Josephine and planning who they might lean on among the nobility for support. Her initial impression was that the elf, Zanneth, was a person of few words. But all Dalish were like that among humans. It said nothing about them as people, only that they did not trust humans, or any outsider, for that matter. That this elf was out and about, seeking company, said far more than her few words. Perhaps she was, indeed, friendly? Or perhaps she sought to make the most of her situation?

Why did she stay? Was she truly moved to do the work of closing the Breach, simply because nobody else could interact with the rifts? If she stayed because it must be done, then Zanneth and Cassandra were indeed cut from the same cloth; _both_ were pragmatic, possibly to a fault. Leliana did not know what else to think of the Herald. She was trying to hold back judgment and not let her truly terrible mood affect how she saw this small woman. It was not the elf's fault that Solona's falcon kept coming back with Leliana's messages unread.

_She is not the beginning and ending of your world, Leliana. You have Revka, you have Josie, and you have Cassandra - all dear to you for different reasons. Pulling away from Revka in particular will do you no good._

_But her face… all I can see is Solona._

Leliana sighed. It was not Revka's fault, and avoiding her would do neither of them any good. Solona's absence affected the two of them the most—they should be worrying _together_, not alone.

_I will try to do better_.

Before Leliana could further berate herself, Max suddenly ran forward, snout raised, mouth open in the bay of a hunter. Bella ran after him. Concerned, Leliana picked up the pace, chasing the two dogs down to see what had them so startled. She found Max sniffing and trying to dig at a bush around the side of the Chantry.

"Max, what is it?"

He pulled back, looking up at her with large, concerned eyes. She could of course not hear it, but she could see his throat moving with the whining sounds he was making. Bella tried digging in as well, but the bush was all brambles and ice and the dog could not get further in. She sat back as well, looking to Leliana for guidance.

Furrowing her brows, Leliana pulled a dagger before getting to her knees to try to find what the dogs were so worried about. At first she could see nothing, merely snow and shadow. But then a movement caught her eye, so she moved several branches out of her way to reveal…

"A kitten?"

Curled up in the snow, mouth open with its cries, lay a tiny, baby kitten. Its eyes were open, but it looked far too young to be away from its mother. And where was the rest of its litter? Leliana had not seen an adult cat around, and they were usually drawn to her, as she housed so many different kinds of birds for the purposes of messages. As she watched, the kitten trembled with the cold. Something inside of Leliana snapped, and before she could think better of it, she had her dagger sheathed and the tiny creature in her arms.

"It is alright," she whispered, wrapping her cloak around the tiny black and white little body. It was so slight. It must have been so long since it had a meal. Its mother must be dead, or the kitten hopelessly lost. "I will take care of you." It batted at her finger; even now it played, despite its condition. "Little Filou," Leliana said, a smile on her lips as he proved his name in Orlesian—trickster.

Looking up, she saw Max with his head cocked to the side. Max, faithful hound of Solona's, nearing the end of his life and yet carrying out her directive to him with a singular focus: care for Leliana. Staring at him now, Leliana could almost see her lover's hand on his big, burly head, praising him, telling him he'd done a good job.

Leliana did not praise him enough.

"Good job, Max," she said, an inexplicable tear leaking from the corner of her eye. "You did a good job, boy." He stood, his rear-end wiggling at the praise, running a small circle around them in his joy. Such simple things could make him so happy. If Solona were to walk into camp today, he might just drop dead with joy.

Leliana might do so, as well.

Standing, Filou the kitten wrapped tightly in her cloak, Leliana started back for the Chantry's entrance. She could not find Solona. She could not save the Divine. But she could do this small thing. She could save this poor, helpless creature that Max had found. She could keep her agents alive. She could save the innocent people of Thedas who did not ask for the Breach in the sky to swallow them up.

She would carry on. She could not find Solona, but she could carry on and do her duty.

* * *

"_Play something for me, Leliana. You have such a lovely voice."_

_Leliana smiles, glad to take up Mother Dorothea's lute. Holding it in her lap, sitting gingerly, she begins to sing, losing herself in the tale she spins, in the notes she sings, in the way the instrument feels at the tips of her fingers. The music fills her, surrounds her, lifting up her spirit, teaching her how to find joy once more._

_When she is through, she sees that Mother Dorothea also has found some peace in the music Leliana makes, and she is endlessly pleased. This woman is nursing her back to health, keeping her hidden and safe. The least Leliana can do is provide some fleeting entertainment for the Revered Mother._

"_Some day, Leliana… some day you will do great things."_

_Leliana scoffs. "What makes you say such things? I am sure it is untrue."_

"_I have a feeling. I have learned to trust my intuition, my dear. You will too, someday."_

_Leliana's head turns down in shame. "I am not sure I will trust anything again…"_

_A finger lifts her chin, and a sweet, smiling face meets her own. "You will, Leliana. I know it. Now, take off your gown. It is time I look at your wounds."_

_A warmth blossoming in her chest, Leliana nods, standing with tender care before pulling the light linen shift – the only thing she can comfortably wear – up over her head. Her wounds are healing - and itch like nothing else - but they are still tender, some still scabbed, all of them red and angry. Mother Dorothea peels, dresses, and oils her back and legs daily. One day, hopefully soon, Leliana will have the dexterity to do most of it herself. But until then, Mother Dorothea, the woman who has taken her in after her long detention by the Orlesian Chevaliers, cares for her._

"_Why do you do this yourself, Mother Dorothea?" she asks._

_Dorothea smiles, rolling up her sleeves before washing her hands at the basin in the corner of her personal chambers. "We are called to serve, not to __**be**__ served, child. I use my own hands to care for you because I am no better or worse than any other person. We must take care of each other, Leliana, for that is what the Maker, what Andraste, would do."_

"_But surely your time could be used doing something more? Someone lower ranking could do this menial task? I am not so important as to warrant the Revered Mother's personal attention..."_

_Warm hands begin to remove bandaging. "And would you trust any other to touch you as I do, Leliana? After all you have been through, could some nameless person—man or woman—come in here and touch your bare skin as you allow me to do?"_

_The very thought makes the bard shrink. "Maker, no!"_

_Warm hands press to her back, immediately soothing. "Shh, child, it is alright. I meant only to prove a point, not to put you in a place of unease. I care for you myself because I am but a servant of the Maker. If I am who you are most comfortable with, then it is I who should tend to your wounds." Leliana relaxes as those cherished hands begin washing the remnants of dried salves and the detritus of her wounds away. "I admit it is also for selfish reasons."_

_Leliana is shocked. "I would never describe you as selfish, Revered Mother!"_

_A chuckle fills the small room. "Be that as it may… I find the task soothing. Meditative. As the mother of the flock, I so rarely get to tend to them one-on-one. And I enjoy your company, especially. Part of the reason I keep you to myself is because that is what you need, but part of the reason is also because I enjoy having this connection with someone who is not part of the priesthood. Too often we stand on rank, as though it matters, in the end. I understand why it is necessary, but… I enjoy being just a person sometimes, as well."_

_Leliana is quiet as Dorothea continues tending to her wounds, flinching now and again at the pain, cringing at the sting of the healing salves, and settling in to comfort as oil is massaged into healing scar tissue to keep her skin supple. This feeling inside her… it is not romantic, but already Leliana knows that she will always love this woman who has taken her under her wing. This woman can forgive her sordid past and show her mercy, love, tender affection. Already she has managed to undo so much of the damage Marjolaine has inflicted upon the young redhead's heart._

_Leliana never thought her heart would ever mend. But here she is, being proven wrong, by a priest of the __**Chantry**__, no less. She has never truly known of the Chantry, of the Maker, having no room for faith as a player of the Game. But if Dorothea's kindness, her unconditional affection, comes from the Maker, then…_

"_Dorothea?"_

"_Mmmm?"_

"_Tell me of the Maker?"_

_She can nearly feel Dorothea's smile. "I would be happy to, my child…"_

Leliana knelt, overcome with grief for her beloved Divine Justinia. "'Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written.'" Leliana looked up to the Chantry, eyes narrowed. "Is that what you want from us? Blood? To die so your will is done?"

White hair caught Leliana's eye just in time for her to see the elf, the Herald of Andraste, look to her in confusion. "I'm sorry? Were you speaking to me?"

Leliana was not, but she continued as though she had been. "You speak for Andraste, no?" Leliana knew the question was ridiculous, but right now… she could use some guidance. What if this woman truly was Andraste's Herald? What if the woman in the Fade really was Andraste, and this Dalish elf was her chosen voice here in Thedas? Andraste allied with the elves against Tevinter. Her army's core was the order of Arcane Warriors, most of them elvhen. It would not be too far a stretch for the Maker's Bride to choose one of the People as her earthly voice, as blasphemous as it might seem to the Chantry.

"I don't know what you mean…"

"What does the Maker's prophet have to say about all this? What's his game?"

The elf's confusion merely deepened. "I… how is this a game?"

"Do you not see the sky? The Temple ruins? The bones lying in the dust? That Temple once held such wisdom, such history. Andraste's Ashes could heal any ailment! We were going to show the leaders of the mages _and_ the templars the secrets buried therein, make a new order for the Chantry! Now there is nothing… nothing but bones and that disgusting, corrupted red lyrium." She made a noise of disgust. "Even if you didn't support the Divine's peace, you wouldn't call this right. Who could? So many innocent lives… the faithful murdered where the Holiest of Holies once stood. If the Maker willed this… what is it, if not a game or some cruel joke?"

The elf began to look angry, but remained silent.

Leliana sighed, standing. "You probably don't even worship the Maker, do you? You are one of the People; you worship your Creators, yes? You are lucky. He asks a lot. The Divine gave him everything, and he let her die."

"Perhaps this is impertinent… but maybe you should be angry at the people who murdered her?"

"If the Maker does not intervene to save the best of his servants, what good is he? I thought I was chosen, once. Doing the Maker's work, helping people by serving the Divine. She could have changed so much! But now she is dead," Leliana nearly spat. "It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant _nothing_."

The elf was silent for a moment before speaking. "The Divine… she was important to you personally, wasn't she?"

Leliana was shocked. Was she truly so transparent? "I… yes, she was. She saved me, during my darkest hour, and in return, I served her when summoned. But it was not just a tit for tat… I was happy to serve. I… I miss her a great deal."

The elf nodded. "You are mourning. Everyone here is mourning the Divine, but none of them like you and Cassandra. Perhaps you should speak with her about your loss?"

"So simple?" Leliana scoffed.

"When my parents died, I took solace in those who also mourned them. It is not the same, but perhaps it will help?"

Leliana thought for a moment, staring up at the face of the Chantry, already adorned in Inquisition heraldry. The sword and the flaming sun rippled in the stiff mountain breeze. "Perhaps… you are right. Thank you, Herald. I… am accustomed to keeping my own counsel. I did not realize that what I needed was to speak of all this."

The elf's lips twitched up at the corners as Leliana's eyes snapped to her face. "You are welcome, Sister Nightingale."

"I will go seek out Seeker Pentaghast now. But… we should speak. If we are to work together, we should attempt to know something of the other yes?"

The elf nodded. "Alright. At your convenience. I have nothing to occupy my time of late."

Leliana smirked slightly. "We shall change that very soon, I imagine. Good day, Herald."

The elf bowed her head. "_Dareth shiral_, Sister."


	9. The Inquisition Dawns

_A/N: Chapter titled by Raven Sinead, as well as beta'd by her. Some changes to canon in here. Surprising, I know. ;)_

_And unrelated to any of that, The Iron Bull is hella fun to write._

* * *

_Chapter 9: Mother Giselle_

Zanneth furrowed her brows, looking up at the serving girl. It was her first time venturing out of her cabin to eat. "What is this?"

The girl looked incredibly confused. "It's… bread, milk, and honey, Your Worship. You know… breakfast."

The elf leaned over the bowl, sniffing delicately. It smelled sour. She loved honey but rarely got it. Bread was not something she ate very often. Milk, she had never had before in her life, though she knew the humans drank it. If it could not be found in the forest or traded for with the occasional friendly human, the Dalish did not have it. Would it be rude to refuse it? The village was doing better with the Bull's Chargers and their supplies and few livestock here, but it still seemed wasteful to refuse the food.

Before she could decide, a booming laugh filled the room. Startled, Zanneth looked up to see The Iron Bull pulling a bench from her table and taking a seat. The man was so large that he seemed to fill the small tavern all on his own. "She's Dalish, Flissa," he announced, calling the barmaid by name. "They don't eat that crap. Makes them sick. Give her meat, vegetables, and fruit - anything else will just come right back up."

The barmaid tried to grab the bowl back up, but the giant qunari had his hand on it immediately. It completely dwarfed the bowl. "I'll eat it. In fact, bring me more - this shit is good." His tone was… playful. The barmaid seemed to be on edge with him, but not afraid. Her cheeks had turned red and she flipped her hair behind her shoulder as she turned, throwing a glance back at the giant horned man.

Zanneth stared after her, then turned to The Iron Bull with her head cocked to the side in confusion. "I… what was that all about?"

He was already finished with what was in the bowl. "What? About the food?"

"Well, that, too. But why was she so… awkward?"

He grinned, leaving Zanneth utterly flabbergasted. "I kept her company the last couple of nights. Gave her a break last night, though. She was starting to walk funny."

It took Zanneth a moment to puzzle out his meaning, but once she did she could feel her face immediately turn so red she was sure she matched the shade of her _vallaslin_. "But… you're _huge_!" Rather than responding, the qunari threw his head back in uproarious laughter.

Trying to steer the conversation away from embarrassing mental images, Zanneth asked him about his timely entrance. "So… what was that all about with the food? I can't eat it?"

"Oh yeah, Dalish can't eat bread and milk straight like that, in my experience."

She raised a brow. "And what experience is that?"

He shrugged. "I've taken in a few Dalish who left their clan for some reason or other. Always had trouble eating shit that's normal for the rest of us. Give them meat, vegetables, fruit, roots, things like that - you know, shit you find in the forest - and they're fine. But the milk, the bread, pastries and all that? Comes right back up. Over time they can eat a little bit of it, but I think you have to be raised on the stuff to eat it all the time. City elves don't have trouble with it, just Dalish."

Zanneth considered him. He was very big, rowdy, loud, but also clearly very observant. She wouldn't have pegged him for being incredibly intelligent, but perhaps she had misjudged him? He was a qunari spy, after all. "Well, I thank you for sparing me an uncomfortable morning."

"Don't mention it. I see why they want to give you that stuff - it does pack on the weight pretty quick, and I hear you lost a lot of weight while that mark was trying to kill you. So just do everyone a favor and eat a _lot_ of bacon, okay?"

Zanneth couldn't help it. A chuckle escaped. It felt… _good_. She'd been crying and wallowing herself to sleep whenever she was alone, mostly just sitting and staring off into space if she wasn't in her cabin. She hadn't experienced any good cheer since the night before the explosion, sitting up and eating a roasted hare with her brother and her betrothed, hearing the stories her grandmother's First had to tell about being a child first learning to control his magic. She had laughed that night. She had been happy that night. It had been fleeting, yes, but she had been happy in the company she had shared.

Before she could get too sad or start brooding, the barmaid returned laden down with a tray of sausages, fruits, cheeses, and another bowl of the bread, milk, and honey for The Iron Bull. He dug in immediately, and Zanneth admitted that the smell of the sausage and the sight of the fruit had her own stomach rumbling like never before. Perhaps these _shem_ could actually make something appetizing? All she'd had for a few days was broth with just a little meat mixed in.

"What is it like?"

Zanneth started, brows immediately furrowing. "What?"

Bull pointed at her left hand, currently glowing faintly. "The mark. What does it feel like?"

Zanneth lifted her hand. "It… feels warm. It stopped hurting when the Breach stabilized. I… haven't thought about it much since then." _I have very good reason for that, however._ And it was a lie. She stared at the mark often, wondering what it could be, where in her flesh it resided, how it had gotten there. But she had no answers. It no longer hurt, but neither did it feel as it had before the mark was there. More often, however, she simply stared and lost herself in the light, seeing Sinna's exotic green eyes glinting with the mischief he and Hyune would get up to. The mark had guided her into tears on more occasions than she could count.

That, however, was getting better, as well. Spending so much time listening to Varric's stories, or chatting about life in general with Revka, or just _being_ in the silent company of Cassandra… it was healing for the Dalish elf. She missed her people, her family, but she found this odd group of people in this mountain village to be strangely good company. They were all so different from how she expected humans to be.

It didn't hurt that not every person was human.

"Interesting," Bull said, cocking his big horned head to the side. "I've seen it glowing a few times. Figured it had to hurt at some point, even if it didn't now."

Zanneth nodded. "It seems to be rather intimately tied to the Breach. When it was expanding, the mark hurt like nothing I've ever experienced. When it stabilized… so did the mark."

He nodded, and they were quiet for a few minutes before he spoke again. "So I wanted to talk to you about something," he said around a mouthful of food.

"What about?"

"Your troops. Cullen's training them good. Even more impressive, considering he's only got one arm. But… you need more of them, Boss."

Zanneth raised a brow at him. "'Boss'?"

He just shrugged. "I'm not Andrastian. Not gonna call you 'Herald' unless you really insist."

"Good. That title is irksome."

He smiled. "Yeah, I figured it would be to a Dalish. You don't worship her either. Badass lady, don't get me wrong. But the Qun works for me. But anyway. Your troops."

It was Zanneth's turn to cock her head to the side. "Why are you telling _me_ we need more of them? Why not Cullen, or Cassandra? _They're_ the warriors. I'm just a hunter. I move alone in the forests."

Bull got very serious, setting his now-empty bowl down and looking Zanneth straight in the eye. "_You're_ the one who they come here for. You can't disappear into the ether like you're used to as a hunter. You have to be at the head of the troops, ahead of your advisors, ahead of Cullen or Cassandra, ahead of me. _You_ are their Herald. _You_ are the one who can close the rifts. It needs to look like you're making the decisions. And eventually, you need to be the one making the decisions in fact and not just in name. You have to accept this, Boss. It's the only way this thing is going to succeed, in the end. For now you can look like a bunch of refugees, but you need more power, more influence. You need to reach out and protect people with that influence. And before you can do that, you need soldiers. And the soldiers aren't gonna come for nothin', Boss. If you can't pay 'em, you have to inspire 'em. The money and resources will follow. But nobody's gonna pledge their support for a rag-tag group of refugees. They'll support power, plain and simple. You need to build your might. _Especially_ as an elf in a world full of humans."

Zanneth just blinked up at him. She had no idea what to say. Strength, might… these were not words she was familiar with as elven traits. They were the traits of the _shemlen_ and their armies, of the Chantry and their Exalted Marches, of the enemies of the elvhen. This qunari warrior wanted her to embody these traits… It was preposterous! This Inquisition… it belonged to the humans, not to her. She was only here to close the Breach, and then only because nobody else could. She did not lead this _shemlen_ institution. The idea was simply ridiculous.

And yet The Iron Bull's face was completely serious…

Before he could lecture her further, a trumpeted bugle call met their ears. Both the qunari and the elf had sensitive hearing, and their heads lifted as one, even as the humans in the tavern around them, there to break their fast and in some cases to begin their drinking early, gave no sign they could hear the bugle outside. Eyes meeting for only a moment, they both abandoned their food and rushed for the door.

* * *

"Of course I can sew you something!" Revka announced, a smile on her face. She held the tiny, purring kitten Leliana had found in her arms, stroking its forehead as it made biscuits along her arm. The Left Hand had inexplicably reached out, ending her week-long silence with her friends. Revka could not be happier. And a kitten, to boot! The little thing was sure to lift Leliana's spirits - romantic people like the former bard thrived when they had something to take care of, something that needed them.

"It's just that he is so small, and he already seems to want to stay with me - I'm told he just mews at the door while I am gone, and he is too small to wander about in the snow on his own. I want a way to keep track of him without worrying-"

"Leliana, please! No explanation needed! Just give me your cloak, and I'll take care of it." The spymaster smiled, removing the cloak from her shoulders and trading Revka the kitten for it. It didn't take long for Revka to sew a sturdy pocket inside the cloak, deep and fur-lined so the kitten could keep warm and not accidentally wriggle free. The whole time, Leliana stood nearby, cradling the tiny kitten in her arms, cooing at him, a slight smile turning up her lips. It absolutely melted Revka's heart; it had been so _long_ since she had seen Leliana like this.

"What is his name?" Josephine asked from her place at her desk.

Leliana did not answer until Revka got her attention and Josephine repeated herself.

"Filou," the former bard said with a smile. The kitten lay curled in the crook of her arm, as he had done the last few days whenever she was near. He was still small, still thin, but his steady diet of cream and little bits of meat seemed to be doing him good. When he was awake, he was very cuddly, though he could be seen trying to play with Bella and Max, as well. The dogs seemed to be more than tolerant of him.

"Ah, for the trickster he will no doubt be," Josephine said with a smile. "A good choice, Leliana. Though he sleeps so much… he shall have to grow into the name."

Revka and Leliana both chuckled. "I have no doubt he will do so," Leliana said, smiling once more. Revka noticed that the smile only barely reached her friend's eyes, but she would take it. It was a dramatic improvement over how she'd been for a while now. _Since not long after Solona left._

"It is good to have you with us for more than business, Leliana," Revka ventured.

Leliana immediately got a guilty look. It was silly to be happy to see such a thing, but outside, when eyes other than Revka and Josephine's were on her, Leliana wore an emotionless mask. The fact that she was comfortable enough with the two diplomats to show her true feelings… it was heartening.

"I… need to apologize, actually," the spymaster began, meeting both their eyes in turn. "I have been withdrawn. When the explosion happened, and the Divine… I withdrew completely. I forgot that I still have people very dear to me here, so lost in my grief was I. I just… I have not been this long without Solona since before we met. I find myself lost… and with Dorothea gone as well…" She shook her head. "In my grief I have forgotten that _you_, Revka, would be just as concerned as I. Even moreso, in fact, as Solona is your family."

Revka's smile was sad as she looked up at her friend, and in truth, the sister of her heart. "Leliana, she is your family, as well. _We_ are family. This is the family I chose. Do not think your grief is any less worthy than mine. We all miss her. Even Josie."

"It is true, Leliana," Josephine said after getting the former bard's attention with a wave of her hand. "I think of your paramour fondly, and it pains me to see you hurt so much. I admit I have not known how best to comfort you."

Leliana's head fell. "I do not think I would have accepted it if it was offered. My focus on our work has been… _singular_." Sighing, she continued. "And I am still not sure what would comfort me, other than Solona walking her way into camp. But enough of this. Happier things." Leliana's eyes took on a mischievous glint as they met Revka's. "_You_ have not spent any time in your own bed in _months_, Revka. Tell us about _your_ paramour."

Revka's cheeks immediately flamed. "Oh, I'm sure you don't need to hear about-"

"You are _not_ weaseling out of this, Revka," Josephine announced, a smirk on her lips. "I have been trying to ask you about your trysts for weeks now. We are not seeking illicit detail. But perhaps your thoughts on where it is going? I admit, I rarely speak with Ser Rutherford… I know nothing about him, or what you see in him, to be perfectly honest. He is… quiet and brooding, from a distance, though I admit he is handsome."

Both sets of eyes were on the young Amell sister, waiting expectantly. Revka had not yet had the chance to gush. She took the opportunity now. "Maker, he's so handsome!" she exclaimed, a grin on her face as both other women laughed. "I love the way his hair ruffles in the breeze, and I feel so beautiful when he's looking at me. Even with all this mud on my skirts." She made a face, causing another round of laughter. "He has a good mind, he's funny, and he doesn't shy away from my feelings. He understands what his templar oaths meant, and therefore knew exactly what he was doing when he left the Order. He…"

"Sounds like a catch," Leliana said with a smirk. "So… how is he in the bedchamber?"

"Leliana!" Josephine gasped. Revka looked over in amusement to find the ambassador red in the face. Given her skin tone and the low candle light, she must be blushing _very_ deeply for Revka to actually be able to see it.

Revka laughed. "It's fine, it's fine! He's… enthusiastic. At first he was very self-conscious about his arm and his inability to hold himself up. But we've... found ways around that." His enthusiasm had a darker underlying reason, but Revka would not spill his secret, not even to the sister of her heart. The secret was simple, but it was hers to keep, precious in her heart because he shared it with her:: sex helped him in his battle against the deep, gnawing absence of the lyrium he had given up when he left Kirkwall.

Leliana guffawed. "I'm sure those ways involved you pushing him down and having your way with him?"

Revka just smiled. "A lady doesn't kiss and tell."

Leliana snorted. "Right. Well, he's a huge improvement over the lad we met in Denerim ten years ago."

"Maker, don't remind me…"

The former bard and spymaster got an intrigued look as she tried her cloak on, slipping Filou into the pocket. "You know, I met Cullen once? A long time ago."

Revka furrowed her brows. "You did?"

Leliana nodded. "Yes. He told you he was in the Ferelden Circle during the Blight, I trust?"

"Yes, he did. He doesn't like to speak of the horrors visited upon him there."

"I don't blame him," Leliana said with a nod. "We have not spoken of it, and I do not know if he recognizes me - it was a harrowing time - but, Revka… he knew Solona."

It was like a punch to her gut. "He… knew her?"

"I would have assumed he would have told you. He had feelings for her, in fact. Forbidden feelings, at that, given she was a mage and he a templar. Does he ask about her ever?"

Revka could barely focus. "He… knows my sister is missing. I would imagine he knows who she is, since he knows our family name, and I mention her by name. I… cannot _believe_ he has not told me of this."

Leliana's features turned guilty once more. "I am sorry I caused trouble. I promise, I bear him no ill-will. This was ten years ago, and he seems to have found his senses as compared to that day we met."

"No, I understand. I shall just have to speak with him. I'm sure he had his reasons, but now that I know… he had feelings for her?"

Leliana nodded. "So far as I know. And they ended rather abruptly when we arrived."

Revla smirked. "Knowing Solona, she was rather brusque in shutting him down."

"Actually, I think it was her pity that did it. He was a young man. Still had lots of pride."

"Do you think they ever…?"

Leliana shook her head decisively. "Never. _I_ have the privilege of having been her first."

Josephine finally spoke from her place at her desk. "The fact that you remain her _only _is rather rare. And indicative of how deep your affection for each other runs."

Leliana knit her brows. "Perhaps. Though… who knows how true that has remained…"

Revka shook her head. "Solona is faithful to a fault. I hate to say it like this, but if she has strayed… it would likely have been against her will."

"Maker, I don't even want to think about that," Leliana said, a shiver clearly running down her back. "I-"

A knock on the door called both Revka and Josephine's attention. Leliana cut herself off at the simultaneous jerks of their heads. Revka was amazed at how quickly her professional mask descended.

"Come in," Josephine called, her own less terrifying professional mask settling over her demeanor. _Do I have such a mask?_ Revka wondered, trying to decide. _I just… become more polite, yes. But I don't feel like I am disingenuous._

_Josephine is not disingenuous, either. You merely know her __**very**__ well._

_That is a fair point._

The door opened and a guard poked her head inside. "Begging your pardon, ambassadors, Sister Nightingale. The herald at the gates just announced an arrival."

Leliana met Revka's eyes. "Mother Giselle," she mouthed. Revka nodded. Things were finally moving forward.

* * *

Mother Giselle walked through Haven, an eye of calm in the storm of the village bustling with activity. She did not have much to do – she was old, and the more frenetic pace of the preparations was beyond her ability – but she provided prayer and talk where she could. Her greatest skill was in her healing hands and healing words, so that was the task to which she bent herself most. Now, however, she walked, stretching her legs as she headed to the tavern for a meal.

Her talk with the supposed Herald had gone well.

_The elf is soft-spoken. "Greetings," she merely says, brown eyes looking up into Giselle's with an intriguing kind of curiosity that the Revered Mother is not accustomed to. This elf is unfamiliar with the Chantry and does not treat this Chantry mother with the same kind of respect that those who move through the world of humans reserve for her._

_It is honestly quite refreshing._

"_Greetings. You are the one they have been calling the Herald of Andraste?"_

_The elf frowns the tiniest bit. She is so small, but she has such mighty beings flanking her - Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the late Divine, and a giant qunari rebel, in charge of the mercenary company that came to Haven to provide relief and help heal the wound in the sky. Perhaps… Perhaps this truly is a new prophet of the Maker? Such a small, quiet thing to command such power._

"_Is that why you are here?"_

_Mother Giselle smiles, inclining her head. "I am here to speak with the one the people have bestowed with that title. If that is you… then I would know your name, so that I might address you as you prefer?"_

_The elf nodded. "I am Zanneth, of the Lavellan clan."_

"_Very well, Mistress Lavellan. I have come to speak with you of the Chantry. They move to denounce you officially, publicly. I would counsel the Inquisition on such an outcome."_

"_Surely you are weary from the road, Your Reverence," the Right Hand says, stepping forward. "We can speak once you have had a chance to eat, to refresh yourself."_

_Giselle shakes her head. "What I have to say will not take long. I can rest and eat after. I would not say no to a seated conversation, however. I am… not as young as I used to be."_

"_Of course," the elf says, turning and heading for the great stone Chantry building in the distance. It is strange, domineering, masculine. Giselle knows the stories. This Chantry was run by men for centuries. How strange: a Chantry run by men._

The elf, Zanneth, had not taken much convincing. She had listened to Giselle and agreed that while it could be a trap, that it could be dangerous, robbing the Chantry of its unified voice would help the Inquisition a great deal. They needed recruits, supplies, the support of the nobility, and they would be much more likely to get such things without the Chantry's official denouncement of the Inquisition fresh on anyone's ears.

As far as Mother Giselle knew, the elf's advisors - the Right and Left Hands, the commander of their forces, and the Lady Ambassador - had argued over the correct course of action, but clearly they had come to a place of agreement. Giselle had provided names and her observations on particular clerics she had known when she still served in Orlais, and now, several days after the Revered Mother of Redcliffe's arrival, the village was bustling in preparations. The Herald and a company of soldiers would depart for Val Royeaux, a week's journey in good weather on horseback, with the sunrise.

Rather than go directly to the tavern, Mother Giselle found herself wandering further afield, eventually heading through the gate to where the recruits trained and sparred with the Iron Bull's Chargers. At the edge of the vast practice area, the Chantry mother found Lady Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine and Hero of Orlais, waling away at a practice dummy. Not knowing precisely why, she found herself drawn to watching the woman, and after a few minutes, she found she had wandered close enough to speak with her.

"They will need dummies made of sturdier stuff for you, Lady Pentaghast," she remarked, drawing the warrior's attention. Something about her demeanor made it clear to Giselle that the Right Hand could use someone to speak with.

Cassandra threw a harsh laugh out in response. "It would be _nice_." She dropped her sword, rolling her shoulders a moment before fixing that intense gaze on Giselle. "Did I do the right thing, Your Reverence?"

"Whatever do you mean, child?"

Cassandra shrugged, looking up to the Breach. Just catching it in her periphery made Giselle shiver in trepidation, but the Divine's Right Hand's gaze did not waver even as her eyes reflected the sickly green light. "What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life. One day they could write about me as a traitor , a madwoman, a fool - and they may be right."

Giselle cocked her head to the side. So. A crisis of faith. Cassandra Pentaghast was not the only one to be struggling with that right now. "What does your faith tell you, child?"

Lady Pentaghast shook her head, her eyes meeting Giselle's once more. "I believe the Herald can stop this, close the Breach. I believe no one else can or _will_ do anything about it. The Chantry will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot."

Giselle chuckled lightly. "You are likely right about that."

"But, Your Reverence… is it the Maker's work? I have such doubts..."

"It is not for mortals to truly know that, Seeker. We must follow our conscience, and hope we are not judged too harshly if it turns out we were wrong."

Cassandra shook her head. "My trainers always told me I am too brash. I must think before I act. I see what must be done and I do it! I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. But… I was wrong about the Herald. I could be wrong about this. And the magnitude of this… I fear if I am wrong, no deity could ever forgive me my fumblings. And that does not even begin to account for all the people I might be leading astray. I cannot afford to be as careless now as I was with _her_."

Cassandra's eyes traveled up to the scaffolding, upon which the lookouts perched. There, atop one of them, sat the Herald, statue-still, white hair glinting in the fading light from the sunset as she gazed into the Breach. Giselle had had no idea where the elf might be, and yet Cassandra found her immediately. She wondered if Cassandra _always_ knew where to find the Herald. She had noticed they often sat together, though they did not speak much. Perhaps they had a special connection?

"And what is your impression of her?" Giselle asked, watching the way Cassandra's shoulders became just the slightest bit more squared as she gazed upon the Herald, as though that filled her with confidence. "Do you think her presence here coincidence?"

Cassandra's voice did not waver as she answered. "Providence. I believe she is precisely what we needed in our darkest hour. She may not believe it, but she is here, doing what needs to be done, regardless of her personal belief. I can believe the rest of it for her. That she stayed here, with people and customs alien to her, is indicative of her will to see this through. The rest… the rest will follow with time."

Giselle smiled. The Seeker was solving her own problems, answering her own questions. As it should be, with those whose faith was a mature faith. Mature faith looked to the priesthood for guidance and discussion, but understood that ultimately the answers were found within. "I notice you do not tell me your impression of her as a _person_…"

Cassandra's eyes finally met Giselle's once more, a wry smile on her lips. "I know next to nothing about her, Your Reverence. She is quiet, and she keeps her own counsel. I am told by Sister Leliana that this is true of all Dalish among humans. Beyond that… I suppose the opportunity will present itself to learn more of her while we are on the road. I understand keeping to oneself. I will not push if she does not wish to share, not if she is doing her part for our effort here."

Giselle smiled. "And because of that attitude, you might actually get her to open up where no one else has yet succeeded."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "This is not the game to see what makes the Dalish oddity tick."

Giselle shook her head. "No, it is not. But everyone should have someone they can confide in. All I meant to say is that you are a good person to fill that role for her. And perhaps… her for _you_? You do not strike me as someone who opens up easily."

"You are correct in that assumption."

"And what made you confide your doubts to me, child?"

The Seeker's eyes turned down the slightest bit. "You… you remind me of Most Holy, Your Reverence. I miss her terribly, and could use her guidance in this moment."

Rocked to her core, Giselle could merely say, "I see. Well… I thank you for your confidence, child. I shall not betray it."

"Thank you for your counsel, Your Reverence," the Seeker murmured, raising her sword as she turned back to her practice.

Giselle made her way back into the village to take the meal she had meant to take much earlier, her mind awash in the things Cassandra Pentaghast had said.


	10. The Road to Val Royeaux

"No. I cannot."

Cassandra furrowed her brow, looking from the horse to the Herald in confusion. "What do you mean? You refuse?"

Zanneth shook her head. Her hair was lengthening: it was still a white fuzz around her head, but it was far more visible with each day. "I did not say I will not, I said I _cannot_. Do you think the Dalish have these smelly beasts out in the forest? We would never fell game. We do not ride any beast of burden. We move on our own two feet."

"But… I thought you had beasts of burden for pulling your land ships?"

The elf sighed. She cut a striking figure in her leather coat and wool cloak, her beautifully-carved hunting longbow strapped along with a travel pack over them both. Her somewhat large ears came to a delicate point in the early-morning light, framed perfectly by the white-capped peaks around them.

"The Dalish do not ride the hallah, Cassandra," Solas said, coming up alongside her, holding the reins of the horse provided to him. Varric and The Iron Bull readied their own animals, of a size and strength for each to be able to manage, some distance away. "The hallah choose to pull the _aravel_, and in return the Dalish tend to the herds and guide their intricate horns to grow as they do. They are not beasts of burden. Theirs is a symbiotic partnership."

Cassandra frowned as Zanneth turned to the elven apostate. "You are Dalish?" the elf asked, scrutinizing Solas with those deep brown eyes. "You bear no _vallaslin_…"

Solas shook his head. "No, _lethallan_, I am not one of the People. I was raised outside the world of both elves and men. I… spend much of my time alone, dreaming and exploring the Fade and its secrets."

Zanneth seemed to accept that, nodding her acknowledgment before turning back to Cassandra. Solas was quickly astride his horse and leading it away. "It is as he says," the elven woman said.

Cassandra pursed her lips. "Be that as it may, we do not have the time to _walk_ to Jader, and we have no carriages to carry you. Carriages do not traverse the mountains, even if we did." Thinking for a moment, she came up with her answer. "Your horse can act as a beast of burden, and you shall ride with me."

"With you?"

"Yes," Cassandra said, already fishing in their supplies for a tether to keep Zanneth's horse tied to her own horse's saddle. "Mine is a warhorse, and a stallion at that. Even our combined weight will not slow him down. Now come, I will show you how to sit comfortably in front of me, and we can be off. Perhaps during the journey we can give you some proficiency in directing your own horse."

Zanneth looked incredibly dubious as Cassandra held out her hands, intent on receiving the gear upon the elf's back. "You cannot run the whole way to Jader," Cassandra repeated. "You are barely now recovering the weight you lost as you lay ill. Now, give me your things and I will secure them to your horse."

The elf did as she was bid, and within a few minutes Cassandra was pulling herself astride her own horse. Holding out her hand, she regarded Zanneth with amusement. The elf's eyes held nothing but skepticism. "Come. I will help you."

With a nod, Zanneth placed her bare hand – the one with no mark – in Cassandra's palm. The Seeker immediately noted to herself how _warm_ the elf's skin was. It was also rough in that particular way an archer's hands became. The grip was strong and sure. Grasping that hand, Cassandra hauled the elf bodily upward. After only a moment of adjustment, she had the Herald of Andraste sitting in the saddle before her, her short bristles of hair tickling the Seeker's chin and lips for a moment as the elf shifted in her awkward seat.

"Sitting astride a horse takes some getting used to, but I can at least show you how to hold yourself so you can still walk at the end of the day. You will be uncomfortable, but you will be able to move." She took the elf's hands in her own, intending to place them upon the saddlehorn, but Zanneth pulled them away.

"I am sorry, I did not mean to offend," Cassandra began, but the elf shook her head.

"It is not you. I simply… it is not you." Taking a deep breath, the elf placed her hands palm-up in Cassandra's, twisting some as she turned deep, dark brown eyes up at Cassandra. "Please, show me what to do?"

Something about the gesture, of Zanneth putting her hands in Cassandra's after disallowing the Seeker to take them, made the Right Hand's heart flutter inside her ribs. It was as though Zanneth would not be taken or forced, but would willingly and knowingly place herself in Cassandra's care. It was… she was not sure how it made her feel. But she was honored to be given that kind of trust, and by one with every right to be distrustful. Silently, she vowed not to betray it.

It did not even occur to her to question how much her opinion of the elf had changed in the last several weeks.

"Hold here," the Seeker said, placing Zanneth's hands on the saddlehorn. She was taken by the curve of the elf's wrists, the faint glow emanating from the left hand, the curl of the fingers as they took hold of the saddlehorn. The elf's hands were oddly regal, elegant, moreso than any Lady of the Court Cassandra had known - except for, perhaps, Leliana's, whose hands were similarly small and well-versed with the bow.

Shaking herself of her thoughts, the Seeker continued, showing Zanneth how to sit and hold her back, how to move with the animal so the was not too sore at the end of the day.

* * *

Cullen turned from seeing Cassandra and the Herald off, looking around at their strange camp. It was half military camp, half refugee camp, built in a place that not so many weeks before had been a place to which people made pilgrimage alongside the Divine. It likely had been the only time people of such humble origins would ever see Her Eminence in person. Yet another reason to regret the explosion.

Next to him, Sister Leliana also turned to face the village. As he watched her out of the corner of his eye, he was perplexed to see the area below her breast begin to _squirm_. It was so shocking that he turned his head to see what might be wrong, just to see the spymaster pull a _kitten_ out of her cloak. She set it down, and it wandered off into the bushes to void itself.

Such a juxtaposition: the cold, hard spymaster caring for such a tiny, warm, helpless thing.

Piercing blue eyes snapped up to his, and Leliana smiled briefly. The smile did not reach those crystal-blue eyes, however. She was so _familiar_ to him, but he couldn't quite place her face. The red hair framing those eyes, though… he was sure he'd seen her before his arrival in Haven.

"Good morning, Commander," she said. Her voice carried both the lilt of an Orlesian accent and the slightly nasal sound of the deaf.

"Good morning, Sister Leliana."

"I trust you are well?"

"I am, yes. And yourself?"

Her eyes cut into him. "I wish I could hear the morning birdsong, but I will survive merely knowing that the Inquisition is making progress."

Cullen was not quite sure how to respond to that. He didn't get the chance, however, as Leliana turned then, scooping up the black and white kitten that had tottered back over to her and striding purposefully back up to her tent by the Chantry.

_What an odd woman_, he found himself thinking.

"Cullen!"

The commander turned with a smile on his lips. There was Revka, grey eyes bright in the crisp morning. Even under her fur cloak and many skirts, he could see the faint sway of her hips as she walked carefully over the ice on the path. The barest hint of the shape of her body made his heart pound, and he found his body responding to wicked thoughts about her even as he watched her walk up to him.

"Hello, my darling girl," he said. It immediately left a sour taste in his mouth.

She raised a dark eyebrow at him. "Really? 'Darling girl'?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "I agree. Didn't quite feel right. I'll think of something to call you."

Coming up to him, she took his hand in her own. "I suggest you treat me like a grown woman and call me by my name. My _father_ used to call me that."

He smiled. "I suppose I can do that." Pausing, he regarded her out of the corner of his eye as they began walking back into the village. "You… seem troubled."

She sighed, continuing to look ahead. Cullen wasn't sure what he ought to do. If it were him, he would want the time to collect his thoughts. But _she_ was not _him_. Perhaps he should pry for her thoughts? Leave her alone? Demand she tell him what was wrong?

He settled for a middle ground. "In fact, you have seemed troubled and slightly distant for the last several days."

She finally looked askance at him. "You are not wrong."

Cullen was more confused than ever by her answer. "I… am not sure I know where to go from here. Is it something I did or said?"

Another sigh. "I fear I, too, am not sure where to go. Or even where to begin."

Cullen regarded her for a moment before changing their direction, heading back out toward the frozen lake. "Walk with me. I promise I'll listen until you're through talking."

She smiled, her hand tightening a little in his, and he knew he'd chosen the right course.

After a silent few minutes, she finally spoke. "Leliana mentioned something to me a few days ago, and I am still not sure how to feel about it."

"Oh?"

"She said you know my sister, Cullen."

His heart kicked in his chest before dropping down through his gut. But he was also incredibly confused. "I… how does she know this?"

Revka pulled her hand from his, stopping and fixing him with a glare. "_That_ is what you focus on?!" she asked, her tone incredulous. "Why did you never _tell_ me, Cullen?!"

Cullen felt his face grow red. "I…"

She heaved a great sigh before setting off again, continuing their walk. He couldn't help but notice how she did not take his hand up again. He trudged after her through the snow and ice like a reprimanded child.

Finally, he asked her, "What would know of it?"

Her grey eyes met his for just a moment. "All of it. And then I want to know why you never said anything, despite the fact that Leliana was correct."

He sighed. "Alright. But… can I ask one simple question first?" Silence met him. He hoped that was permission to ask. "How does Sister Leliana know Solona?"

"They have been lovers these many years."

Cullen was so shocked he stopped in his tracks. "They _what_?!"

Revka whirled around, piercing him with eyes that were such a match for Solona's that even ten years later he could easily envision the mage here. It was the same look the white-haired Grey Warden had given him during his rage-induced call for the death of all the mages left in the Tower. It was a look he hoped he never received from his lover again.

"And are you jealous of Leliana? Do you wish you could have my sister in your bed instead of me? Did you know who I was, who my sister was, when you accepted me in your rooms that first night? Was I just a substitute for the love my sister never returned to you?!"

_Cullen opens the door at the knock. It is peculiar, as it is quite late. There is a flurry of snow and the swish of a cloak as a body moves past him, too quickly for him quite to see who it is. The scent that wafts by him informs him, however. Lavender oil and the vaguest scent of sun kissed honeysuckle._

_It is Revka. _

"_What can I do for..." He trails off as her gorgeous grey eyes, so familiar for reasons yet unknown, meet his. The gaze is cutting, intense. He feels as though she has been hunting him, and now she circles in to make the final lunge._

_Without a word, the woman's cloak opens, revealing a sight he never would have expected: satin, petal-soft breasts, a full expanse of bare belly, and a dark triangle of thick hair, a deep ocean in which he immediately wishes to be swallowed. His eyes snap back up to hers, and he watches as she deliberately slips out of the heavy snow-boots she wears, pulling the ties to her cloak and letting it slip off of her shoulders. His eyes follow the cloak, watching as it puddles around her boots._

_Yes. Yes, she has made her final lunge. She came here to make her kill._

_The thought has him immediately aroused._

"We hadn't talked about your missing sister by that point, Revka!" His face felt permanently heated. He was so young then. Younger than Revka is now. His infatuation with Solona… it was forbidden. "I was a different man then! I was young, and foolish! I _knew_ my feelings were wrong, but I…" He sighed, deflating a little.

He should not be so defensive. He should reaffirm his feelings first, then go from there. If he learned nothing else from a married comrade of his, he'd had that lesson nearly beaten into him when he would scoff at stories of his arguments with his wife. If she is doubting your love in her, you need to reaffirm it before _anything else._ The goal is not to escape blame like a child. It is to come to the other side of the argument with an understanding between you. Cullen never quite knew what that might look like, of course, but he felt this was one of those times.

"No. No, you were not a replacement for her, Revka. I want _you_. I love _you_. I have not been carrying a torch for her all these years."

Revka frowned. "I love you, as well, Cullen. But this… you knew the whole time. Why did you not tell me?"

Cullen raked his gloved fingers through his hair in frustration. "When was I supposed to tell you, Revka? 'I'm sorry your sister is missing. I used to know her, and I fancied her. Just, you know… thought you ought to know'?! It didn't seem _fair_ to tell you! It was never a good time, and it seemed… selfish, to turn it on me. Plus…" His shoulders sagged, and he turned away.

Revka's voice was soft, still full of hurt, but not so full of anger, as she asked, "What?"

He took a deep breath. "I am ashamed." Another deep breath. "I believed that what we did was right and just, because it was all I had been taught. I followed my orders. Just like I followed my orders in Kirkwall. I am _ashamed_ of what I allowed to happen, without even questioning it within _myself_. Solona had run, she deserved to be punished. We were there to protect her!" Cullen paused, heaving a great sigh even as he cringed internally to think of his former self. "Orders _do _need to be followed, but…" He turned his eyes up to hers once more, seeking out her understanding. "I long to be the commander I wish I had then. I long to give orders I would myself follow without question, even as I want lieutenants who would think critically of those orders. Those days… they are _shameful_. That part of my life is full of shame. I am a selfish man, Revka. I care far too much of how you think of me. I would spare you my shame so that you might see me in a better light. _Especially_ since it so intimately involves your sister and her… public humiliation."

He had not shared all the details. He could not stand to see the look in her eyes should she discover that he had held Solona down while they shaved and branded her. _That_ was truly his deepest shame. It had taken far too long for him to realize it, and he could not _bear_ to see Revka lose all respect for him. He had shared enough. Let him keep his deepest, darkest demons to himself.

"You beautiful, stubborn, _insufferable_ man," Revka whispered, and she was in his arms, pulling his face down for a brief yet scorching kiss. "You are _unbearably_ noble. Why must you be so insufferably _good_?"

Cullen was confused. Wasn't she just angry with him? Why was she now kissing him and hugging him? He wouldn't question it out loud, however. He would merely hug her to him and thank the Maker he was able to articulate himself.

"This is not over," she said, her voice somewhat muffled by his cloak. "I'm still not happy you kept this from me. But… but I suppose I can understand your reasons. Even if you were wrong," she finished, her tone pointed.

"Yes," he said. He had been wrong so much lately. What was once more? Especially if it kept this strong, beautiful, intelligent woman in his arms. "Yes, you're right. I'm… sorry. I thought it best, but I think I can see why you would rather the unpleasant truth to being kept in the dark."

He felt her nod, and then she was pulling away, taking his hand, and tugging him to continue their walk. "So," she said, fixing him with a small smirk. "What first drew you to her?"

"Hmm?"

"Well, my sister is _charming_ as can be. More than one noble who met her in Val Royeaux had hoped to drag her off to bed. So what first drew you?"

Cullen couldn't help but smile, even as his face flushed. "Well… she's terribly _funny…_"

* * *

"Do you miss your clan?"

Zanneth started, pulling her attention from her discomfort in the saddle. She and Cassandra had ridden in silence for hours, even as those around them - Varric, Bull, Solas, and a handful of Inquisition soldiers - joked and laughed. Well, Solas did not joke, nor did he laugh. He was more serious than even Zanneth.

They were still in the mountains, heading north on a path between peaks to Jader before taking ship across the Waking Sea straight to Val Royeaux. Zanneth was not familiar with the maps, but the humans knew where they were going, so the elf did not argue. Soon the Frostback mountains would be rising gracefully behind them, and the need for their cloaks would disappear with the frigid mountains, as it was only barely turning from summer to autumn.

"I…" The elf was not sure how to answer Cassandra's question. _Do I miss them? I miss Grandmother. I weep for Hyune and Sinna. I miss Hyune so much. But… I do not miss the rest of them_. The realization was startling. She was somewhat dismayed to realize that she already had a closer relationship with Varric and Revka, with Cassandra who did not even speak much, than she did with most members of her clan.

Her seat on the horse was suddenly stifling. "Can… can we stop for a little while?" Zanneth twisted, looking up into Cassandra's cinnamon eyes. "You said we would stop soon for a meal, yes?"

Cassandra stiffened, and only then did Zanneth realize how closely the human's body had molded to her own as they rode, even given that the warrior wore heavy armor. "Did I upset you?" Cassandra asked, her eyes filling with concern.

"No, it was nothing you said. I just… wish to stretch my legs. I feel stiff." Truly, she needed some time alone to think on her revelation.

Cassandra's gaze pierced right through Zanneth. It was clear to the elf that the warrior _knew_ it was more than that. But after a moment of that intense stare, the human nodded, looking around behind them to the others. "We will halt here for the midday meal," she announced, stopping the horse and dismounting in one smooth move. Her presence at Zanneth's back - solid, strong, and oh so very warm - was immediately missed. When the elf took Cassandra's hand to be helped down from the horse's back, she noted how warm and brightly the mark on her hand glowed upon contact.

The Seeker's eyes grew large as Zanneth's feet touched the ground. "I can feel it," the human said, her face and her tone clearly showing her awe. Zanneth's face flushed, but she allowed Cassandra to turn her hand and examine her palm. The warrior's calloused hands were surprisingly careful, and her eyes reflected the green glow emanating from Zanneth's palm. "Does it pain you?"

The elf shook her head. "No longer. It… feels like something is there, but it is not painful. Perhaps it is tied to the Breach? Do you think it will change or disappear when the Breach is closed?"

"I cannot say." Cassandra released Zanneth's hand, allowing the elf to lower her arm to her side. "I suppose we can only wait and see." Zanneth nodded, staring down at her faintly-glowing palm.

After a moment, she turned away, looking into the distance. Somewhere past the mountains was the Dales, the homeland her people were given, only to have the _shemlen_'s Chantry declare an Exalted March and drive them away, destroying their lives and culture over once more. Yet Cassandra, Revka, Josephine… all of them were kind people, nonplussed by her pointed ears and Dalish ways. But many of the servants in Haven were elves. Zanneth did not know _what_ to think. It was all so much more complicated than she had ever thought.

"I do not believe that I have not offended you," Cassandra's voice sounded, recalling Zanneth's eyes. "But I will leave you alone." The human turned, leading her horse away to be staked out with the others.

Sighing, Zanneth began walking off the path into the snow, not headed anywhere but _away_.

_How did I end up here? I am supposed to be spying on humans. I am supposed to go back to my clan, marry Sinna. We are to make a new aravel with our own hands. We are to raise this child, and others, together. I am to watch Hyune grow into the good man he will be. I am supposed to watch him with my children, with his own children. I am to bury my grandmother in several seasons and pray to the Creators to take her home._

_Instead I am here, with humans, a dwarf, and a bloody __**qunari**__ after I supposedly walked the Beyond?! Where is Sinna? Where is Hyune? I was not personally close to him, but others will feel Relarian's absence. I am supposed to raise this child alone? And this journey to Val Royeaux and back will last as long as a month… will they still want me as their Herald when the quickening is upon me? Do they all feel how that healer felt?_

_I am surrounded by hostility. If I show any of what has befallen me, I am in danger. That is how it always is with humans._

_I can't… I don't know…_

Zanneth fell to her knees, overcome with emotion. Tears fell silently down her face as she gazed into the distance, her focus inward. She wept for Hyune. She wept for Sinna and the love she could not seem to muster inside for him. She cried for her child, who would never know its father or uncle. She wept for her _self_, for all the concerns she now faced, for the future she had lost.

She did not want to go back to her clan. She did not want this child, not truly. She had not wanted Sinna. She had gone along with all of it because it was what had been expected of her, and because that was the best way to ensure a future for her clan. But they were not here. Only she was here, fighting a battle for the entire _world_. It was too much. She did not know how she would be able to continue.

_Perhaps I should just disappear into the woods and not look back. Let these Chantry people take care of their own problems…_

Strong hands were on Zanneth's shoulders, and she found herself drawn into familiar, strong arms. She was surrounded by the scents of leather, wood, steel, and spice, and she knew that it was Cassandra, ever vigilant, not at all missing the elf falling to her knees and weeping. After spending all morning practically in the woman's embrace, Zanneth felt she would never forget that particular combination of aromas.

Any other time this embrace would have made the huntress stiffen, end it as soon as possible, perhaps ask the human what she was thinking. But Zanneth had been alone for so long, without her family for so long, had indeed lost those closest to her – with the exception of her grandmother – that she threw herself into the comfort offered. She started crying in earnest, sobs peeling from her lips in great gasps. Cassandra, solid and strong and silent, let her, the woman's tabard soaking up the elf's tears just as quickly as she produced them.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Zanneth's tears were spent. She felt as a sponge having just been squeezed, voided of all excess moisture. She simply had no more to give. Sitting back, she sniffed and wiped her eyes, glancing up to see Cassandra's brows furrowed in concern.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice somewhat hoarse.

"You are welcome. I… hesitate to assume that was about something I said, but if it was, I hope you will tell me how I have offended you?"

Zanneth shook her head. "It was not you. Not truly. I just…" She sighed. She had to confide in someone. She could not survive keeping _all_ of it to herself like she had been doing. It was clearly not working. This human had been there from the start, first suspecting her but then believing she could do this impossible task, and helping her along the way. Perhaps… perhaps she was safe?

Zanneth took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I was not alone at the Conclave. Three others were with me. One was my brother, one was the First of my clan, and one was… my betrothed. They all perished…"

Cassandra immediately looked stunned. "These were the other voices coming from the rift…"

Zanneth nodded, closing her eyes as a stray tear leaked out. "I have no memory of what happened. All I know is my brother wanted a closer look. He was so foolish! He ran ahead and the rest of us chased him down. But he is… _was_ our fastest hunter. I could not stop him. The next thing I remember is the vague image of a woman, and then seeing you and the deaf sister in the dungeons. I did not know for sure they had died until we tried to close the Breach. I… I _heard_ them murdered, Cassandra! I can't… I can't… I have lost so much. Why must I lose them, too?"

"The world is an unkind place," Cassandra answered, her eyes turned down, gaze intense but kind. "It has stolen much from many of us."

Zanneth sighed, looking away. "It _was_ something you said, but you did not cause offense. The truth is that aside from my grandmother – my clan's Keeper – I do _not_ miss anyone left there. All the hope I had for my future…" _I cannot tell her about the life inside of me. That is too much. It is mine, at least until the quickening._ "It is gone. It perished in that temple. I have no place to go, no people to go to, and I am utterly alone here in this place. You need me to be strong, to be certain, to be sure. I am sure of _nothing_ anymore, Cassandra. Nothing but my own heartache."

They were quiet for a time after that, Zanneth thinking of Hyune, of the Breach, of how she wished for nothing more than to curl up in her grandmother's lap like she had as a small child. Cassandra's presence at her side, her hand rubbing absently at Zanneth's back, was an unforeseen comfort. Over the course of several minutes, the elf was surprised to find she had shifted, leaning into the warrior's solidity, the human's arm moving to be gently draped around her shoulder.

"When I was very young, my parents were killed." Cassandra's voice was low and soft, and when Zanneth looked up she found the human's gaze fixed on the nearest snow-capped mountaintop. "They took the wrong side in a coup attempt, and as punishment the king had them executed. My brother and I were spared, as we were family, and children at the time. My brother… was my _life_. I idolized him. We were to be like the dragon hunters of old, he and I. He promised to teach me in secret. He… was taken from me when I was still a young girl. Oh, I was so _angry_. I was enraged for a very long time.

"Blood mages took him, so I wanted to be a templar, to hunt down mages. The Chantry knew my intention was vengeance, however, and directed me to the Seekers instead. I… found purpose, direction. It was not easy, and I was not necessarily _happy_, but that purpose has stayed with me. It has made the loss bearable, and it has given me a focus I could not have cultivated on my own. Sometimes I think of how my life would have been had all that tragedy not befallen me. Married, with children of my own? Another of those insufferable, dithering ladies in a frilly dress, living from party to party and spending far too long selecting my mask for the masquerade?"

It was the most words Zanneth had ever heard Cassandra speak. She found it odd that the warrior did so with a comforting arm around the elf. But… Zanneth did not miss the similarities between them. They were an odd sort of comfort. Cassandra knew. She knew this pain, this loss. She had born the weight of it for years, instead of the mere weeks the huntress had.

"In the end, I find such contemplation to be pointless," Cassandra continued. "My life would be different had that not happened, but my life would be different had _anything_ happened differently. If I had had more siblings, if I had not sought vengeance, if I had simply had a penchant for the frilly dresses I cannot stand wearing. I cannot change what happened; I can only change what happens from _here_. So few people have any power in this world. Your mark allows you to undo some of the chaos tearing at our lands. You have the power to keep other people from experiencing the same loss and sorrow that you and I have _both_ suffered at the hands of those with more power than us. I do not know if it is a comfort to you, but… it always has been for me."

Zanneth had never thought of it like this before. She could save lives by closing the Breach, by closing the rifts. She could save other people the heartache and sorrow she herself was experiencing. If someone could have stopped this from happening, but failed to do so because they were afraid, or wallowing in their sorrow… imagine how different things could be for Zanneth now?

"It is," the elf said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Come again?"

"It _is_ a comfort. If I can spare some child, some husband, some other young elf looking joyously upon her future… if I can spare them this heartache? That is a comfort. I have felt so useless. I have had no task to which I can bend my idle hands, no purpose for my mind to focus upon. This… closing the Breach can be that. I may not know the people I can save, but if I can do so… then I will. Not because I have nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, but because I choose to help, to save those I can. It… may not look different on the outside from what I was doing before, but…"

Cassandra nodded. "But it can make all the difference on the _inside_. Having a choice in the matter… it is _everything_. Far too few people have any choice. I am glad that you see that you have some in this."

"Thank you. You could have… _mollycoddled_ me but instead you gave me true words of comfort. Words I can act on. So I thank you."

"You are welcome, though I hardly think it worthy of thanks. I am truly, deeply sorry for your losses. The explosion at the Conclave took many things from many of us. We can take comfort and power in our shared losses, but it is so difficult to share in the first place and believe that others will understand. I am humbled that you would share such a thing with me."

Zanneth nodded. "I needed someone. You are… safe. I cannot say why. But I appreciate you here, with me, always at just the right moments. My head was filled with such doubt. Then you were here, and I now feel I can do this thing that must be done."

Cassandra was quiet a moment, merely sitting on her knees with an arm draped over Zanneth's shoulders. Then she was moving, finding her feet before holding out a hand for the elf. "Come. Let us eat something. There is still quite a bit of daylight left in which to travel."

Nodding, Zanneth took the outstretched hand. The mark once again glowed warmly and brightly at the contact.

* * *

_A/N: A note on arguments. Namely, I don't tend to do extended arguments or fighting well. It's just not something I do in my own life. My parents used to do the kind of fighting that I was embarrassed about because the whole fucking street knew they were fighting and what it was about. I vowed then to never, ever resort to that kind of behavior with **anyone** in my life. I tend to write arguments where people articulate themselves well and really try to understand the other person and there's no yelling._

_That said, I imagine there will be moments where I'll need to channel my inner rage monster and have an argument that lasts longer than five minutes. I can already think of one or two that we're headed toward eventually._

_But for the most part... what you saw above is typically how it goes. People may not reach an understanding right away, but they will reach a place where they can **talk** about it somewhat quickly and move on. I just have no interest in writing a fight for pages and pages and pages just to show all the details of it._

_The only reason I'm addressing this now is because I've been called out on Leliana and Solona tending to understand each other too quickly. And all I've got is... that's what **I** do. I mean, my wife and I talk and talk and talk until we understand each other, but I refuse to write hours and hours worth of lesbian processing into this fic. It's gonna be long enough without all that._

_So. Yeah. Just thought I'd head that off near the beginning. I write romances where people understand each other and where the people in the relationship are each other's calm rock. You probably won't see me write much rollercoaster-esque with the emotional ups and downs. It's just not my thing. :)_

_On a different note, writing Solona in absentia - not there but always on **someone's** mind - is kind of fun! I imagine it's kind of torture for all y'all, though..._


	11. Val Royeaux

_A/N: I tried posting this on Thursday, but someone told me they never got the email. I got it, but maybe none of you saw it? So I'm trying re-posting it._

_A few changes here. And some tittilating visuals. :D_

* * *

_Chapter 11: Val Royeaux_

"So I guess you've never been on a ship?"

Zanneth looked up, bleary-eyed, to see Varric standing nearby, his ever-present half-grin in place. The elf shook her head, immediately regretting it. "No, I have not," she managed around her groan.

Varric chuckled. "Well, it'll be over soon. Then our first stop can be at an inn so you can sleep it off." He turned, looking over the side of the ship, seeming invigorated by the salt spray and chill air.

Zanneth had been sick from the moment she stepped foot on the ship two days before. Now, Val Royeaux was clearly visible. The captain had stated they would be in line to dock in an hour or so. The Dalish elf was counting the seconds until her feet could be on land once more.

The journey to Jader had gone without further incident. She and Cassandra talked at times, though not as candidly as that first time. They shared a tent when the group made camp, and Zanneth found the warrior ever-present at her side, night and day, to be of great comfort. They grew closer through small, quiet words, and when Zanneth began revisiting her meals over the side of the ship, she got both Cassandra's comforting hand at her back and the warrior's teasing in her ears. Something about it, however, was comfortable. They were becoming familiar, and teasing banter naturally followed that familiarity. Varric and Bull, too, teased her, but she knew it was good-natured, and it felt… good.

She had missed having a friend. She never would have expected to find that friend in a human, a qunari, and a dwarf. There was a lot that had happened of late that she never could have predicted.

But for now… she just wanted off this blasted ship.

Three hours later, the Dalish elf finally set foot on dry land.

"Why does the ground feel as though it is moving?" she asked, brows furrowed. It was supposed to stop once she got to solid ground.

"It is the cursed nature of being on the flowing water for so long," Solas answered, his ever-present, slightly smug grin in place.

The Iron Bull gave out a hearty laugh. "Yeah, it feels like it's moving for at least a few hours after you've gotten off the ship. My recommendation: get rip-roaring drunk, and it feels normal."

"If I had to guess, Bull, I'd say Zanneth here has never touched alcohol in her life," Varric chimed in, smirking.

"Leave her alone and let us get moving," Cassandra announced, shouldering her pack and moving past them all. "I do not like the stench of the docks. Let us find lodgings with a place to _bathe_."

"What, you don't want to go see the clerics when you haven't bathed for a week?" Varric said, winking over at Zanneth. Despite her discomfort, the elf chuckled to herself.

"Hey, aren't you part of the Chantry, Seeker?" Bull asked, slinging his own pack over his shoulder. "Why do we have to stay in a tavern? Not that I'm complaining. Tavern wenches are hard to come by in the Chantry. And I'm probably not really _welcome_ in a Chantry building…"

"That is precisely why we cannot," Cassandra answered, striding ahead. "The Chantry has not yet officially…"

She trailed off as she stopped in front of a message board in the common area outside the docks. She stood for a moment reading, her expression growing darker and darker. "Shit," she murmured.

"Uh oh. The Seeker is swearing. What's it say, Cassandra?" Varric asked.

"I was about to say that the Chantry has not officially declared us heretics, but this missive essentially does just that. Any member of the Inquisition is in direct opposition to the Chantry." She huffed angrily, reaching up and tearing the announcement down before folding it up and stuffing it inside her tabard. "We have to work harder now," she said, continuing her walk once more.

As they walked, Zanneth became quieter and quieter, taking in her surroundings. All around her, reflective stone of white and rose, green and black, rose up. People, human and elf alike, hurried around them. The streets were swept clean, and many carriages rushed past the group. At one point, one of the carriages stopped nearby, and out spilled a human in a mask, drapery hanging from the person's frame as a feminine giggle left the form. A masked gentleman followed, his clothes adorned in unnecessary frills and drapery, as well, though not so bad as the woman.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise before Zanneth could remark on the spectacle at all. "Orlesian nobles," she said with a sneer, stepping around the carriage with a shake of her head. "Visiting a brothel while here to pay lip service to the Chantry."

Bull perked up at that. "That's a brothel? Good to know."

"You will _not_ visit a brothel while we are here," Cassandra said, whipping around to face the giant qunari. "You can slake your lusts in Haven or at the tavern tonight, but you will _not _be spending Inquisition gold at the brothel while we are here to speak with the Chantry clerics." Her dark eye bored holes up at him.

Bull just stared down at her for a moment.

"I don't know, Bull. That sounds like a challenge," Varric said, pulling both their gazes - growing more and more defiant each - to himself. "Sounds like the Seeker doesn't think you can hunt successfully without coin."

The Iron Bull chuckled. "Right." Looking back to Cassandra, he smirked. "Fine. Have it your way. I'll have just as much fun _outside_ the whorehouse."

"Ugh," Cassandra said, blowing out her breath before turning back around and stomping off again. Zanneth merely stared after her with wide eyes for a moment before hurrying to keep up.

* * *

Cassandra plunged the sponge into the water before applying it to her skin.

"Oh, I've missed this," she murmured to herself, luxuriating in the warm water running over her shoulders and back. It had been _months_ since she had taken a real bath. Months of travel on the road, of bathing in streams and rivers, of sponge baths during her short time in Haven. There was a public bath house in the village, but it had sat empty and been left unmaintained for years, and had not yet been restored by the time of the explosion at the Conclave. It was most definitely _not_ at the top of the list of things that needed to be done.

She sat in a basin of hot water, the inn having a room in which patrons could bathe, and she was luckily the first, so the water was fresh and clear. The Seeker had truly been through with her bath for several minutes now, but the feeling of the hot water on her skin was one of the only luxuries she ever allowed herself, and as it had been so long since she had partaken, she allowed herself the extra few minutes of comfort. She pulled the sponge across her shoulders again, moving it around and letting the water cascade over her chest into the water waiting below. She closed her eyes, sighing in contentment.

The door creaked open, startling the Seeker's eyes open. She was not expecting anyone to simply barge in. The few travelers in the inn would know the etiquette of a shut door. That meant that either she had an attacker, or…

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to disturb you," Zanneth said, eyes large. "I'll leave and come back later."

"No," Cassandra announced, wringing out the sponge so it could be used by another. "It is fine. I was finished anyway." Setting the sponge aside as Zanneth closed the door behind her, Cassandra stood in the large basin. She was almost sad to leave the water, but she could not very well stay in the bath as Zanneth bathed.

_What an absurd idea_.

"That is a nasty scar," Zanneth remarked. Cassandra followed the elf's eyes to her right inner thigh, where a long, silver streak marred her otherwise dusky skin. It was not the only scar Cassandra had on her legs. Indeed, her entire body was dotted with the evidence of battles won and pain endured. But this was the largest scar, and it had one of the best stories. It also stood as testimony to the first time she let a man touch her with any tenderness.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Cassandra said. She reached out, taking a towel from the stack nearby and wrapping herself in it before stepping out of the tub. Moving away, she sat upon the bench in the corner to dry off while Zanneth disrobed.

"Is there a story behind it?" the elf asked, unlacing the collar of her tunic before lifting it over her head. Cassandra's eyes were drawn to pale skin, wiry muscle stretched out under it. The elf's body was ever that of a hunter, small and lean, yet the Seeker was sure that, once she had recovered all her lost weight, the elf could carry a felled stag for short bursts at a time all the way back to her clan's camp.

Cassandra wasn't surprised by the elf's type of body. What did surprise her, however, was that the _vallaslin_, the tattoos upon her face that was a trait of all Dalish who had reached their majority, continued elsewhere on her body. The same sprawling, crawling lines, reminiscent of the meandering roots of a mighty tree, spilled over the caps of the elf's shoulders and onto her chest, wrapping around her upper arms and stopping at the tops of her breasts.

Meeting Zanneth's eyes as the elf shed the rest of her clothes, Cassandra nodded. "Yes, there is, though I rarely tell it." She was almost disappointed to find that the elf, as she exposed her pale-skinned legs, bore no more _vallaslin_. It was entrancing, though the Seeker forced herself to meet the elf's dark brown eyes rather than continuing to take in the beautiful artistry before her.

"You don't need to," Zanneth said quickly, stepping into the warm water Cassandra had just abandoned. "I don't mean to pry."

"Please, it is fine, Zanneth," Cassandra said, waving her hand in dismissal. "You already know of my family. I… _enjoy_ speaking with you. You… are not the only one who lost someone she loves in the explosion. I…" It was difficult to even say. But Zanneth had shared with her. She wanted to show that she could be trusted. And Cassandra had not said anything of Galyan's death to _anyone_. Leliana knew, of course, and had expressed her condolences, but that was it. No one else living knew she had ever in her life taken a lover.

"I have been with only one person in my life," she began, looking away as Zanneth began to wash the road dust and general grime away from her skin. _Such delicate-looking skin. So pale, especially with all that dark red juxtaposed against it._ Taking a deep breath, she continued. "He was a man with whom I adventured in my youth. He was a mage ever loyal to the Circle and the Chantry, and he helped me uncover a plot to kill Divine Beatrix, the previous Divine. I was awarded for my role in saving her life by becoming the Divine's Right Hand. He and his comrades were rewarded with the Divine's thanks and then shuttled off back to the Circle, out of the public's eye. He and I grew close, however. And this scar was the start of that closeness."

"How so?" the elf asked, seemingly unperturbed by the revelation of the Seeker having taken a lover. _Right. She is Dalish. She has no idea how scandalous it would be for me, Nevarran royalty, to be so open about taking a lover. Even more scandalous for him to have been a mage, as I am a Seeker_.

Cassandra smiled sadly. "He was useless when it came to combat. That was _my_ job. But I was injured, and it was some time before I would allow him to aid me, even with a healing hand. I… did not yet truly understand that mages are _people_ with an exceptional gift, one that places them in danger, but which is not inherently evil. So his magic… it looked no different to me from the magic used to kill my brother, to torture him and tear him apart before my eyes. I had also never experienced the caring touch of another, and the placement of the wound was… intimate, as you saw. But finally the pain and my inability to fight made it necessary, and I relented."

"It scarred because you left it too long?"

"Yes, that is how he explained it," Cassandra said with a nod, her mind drifting away to another time and place.

Regalyan had always waited with bated breath when they managed to meet, eyes roving over her, stopping when they met this scar. He would kneel and place his lips upon it, his beard tickling her sensitive skin. It always made her laugh and grip his hair and pull him up for a kiss.

It had been _years_ since such an occurrence, however. It became harder and harder to meet with any privacy, and in the meantime they were both left bereft of the other. Letting him go was so difficult, but… it was not fair to expect him to wait for their infrequent trysts and have no affection, no confidante, in the meantime. He was reluctant to accept their split, but in the end he found what he needed, and she was free to perform her duty.

And then he had died, right along with the woman who dictated Cassandra's duty. So much for all her care of the feelings of others.

"Was he at the Conclave? It was a gathering of your mages and templars, yes?"

Cassandra's head snapped back to Zanneth to find the elf no longer bathing, merely sitting in the tub, eyes on the Seeker. "Yes. He died at the Conclave, along with everyone else. Everyone but _you_." She said the last as she ran a hand through her drying hair, an eternal sign of frustration for the warrior. "It was many years since we were together, since I have even seen him, but still it is a loss I feel, if somewhat distantly. We have all been in mourning these weeks. No one has stopped to consider how shocking, how overwhelming all of this might be to you, or what you might have lost in all of this. I am afraid we are all fallible, selfish people when it comes down to it. For that, I apologize."

Zanneth smiled, a small thing that did not necessarily communicate joy, but nonetheless Cassandra was stunned. It was the first time she had ever seen such an expression on the normally-solemn hunter's face. "Trust me, I understand being absorbed in your sorrow. It took _you_ drawing my pain from me in order for me to see that I have been every bit as self-absorbed as you describe. This has been… I cannot rightly describe it. It is outside everything I have known. But… there I go, making it about myself once more."

She paused, eyes softening into an expression of true _care_. "Cassandra. I am sorry for your losses. So many losses. This chaos, this conflict… it takes so much from so many. From what I have gathered, the Divine was trying to make the two sides talk, to find a solution. That is an admirable goal to continue pursuing, Cassandra. Honestly, I am… impressed. I admire that you would continue to seek a solution, instead of sinking into your sorrow. I… hope I can live up to that example."

"You… admire me?"

The elf simply nodded. She then stood, pale skin glistening in the candle light. Cassandra had to rip her eyes away before she could be accused of indecent staring. Why were her eyes drawn to the elf's skin? Perhaps she was just exotic to the Seeker, her pale skin, the tattoos adorning her flesh. The elf was certainly _completely_ unabashed in her nudity. It made Cassandra wonder just what Dalish culture might be like in regards to such things? Was there no room for modesty in the forest, just as there was no room for modesty in the barracks?

They returned to the room they would be sharing after washing their travel clothing. Then, they headed down to the common room for another meal, at the elf's request. Now she was not sick on a ship, it seemed the young woman was famished. Cassandra could not blame her. Truly, the Seeker was pleased to see the elf eating so heartily again, after two days of seasickness so close on the heels of her illness in Haven.

Cassandra did not eat, however. She could not do anything but think on the next day. For, on the morrow, they would be visiting the Grand Cathedral.

* * *

There was a crowd around the steps of the Grand Cathedral when Zanneth and Cassandra approached. Solas, Bull, and Varric had all stayed behind – as non-humans, they all agreed they might hurt the other two's chances of an audience with the surviving clerics of the Chantry.

Zanneth chafed in her clothes, unused to such stiff material. She had spent her life wearing leather, furs, and, during the hottest months, a rough homespun made by the clan's two weavers. She now stood, however, in linen, soft yet stiff and unfamiliar, and a stiff leather vest under a tabard with the symbol of the Inquisition emblazoned on her front. Cassandra wore an outfit to match. Zanneth could not deny that they cut fine figures in the military-inspired outfits they wore, made expertly and quickly by the Lady Revka before they left Haven. Now that the elf saw the finery of those around them in this city, she also could not deny that arriving here in their travel clothing would have made them stick out far too much.

"Good people of Val Royeaux! Hear me!"

"She speaks in the common tongue," Cassandra whispered, peering through the crowd to the gathered clerics on the cathedral's steps. "I sent word that we had arrived yesterday. They are expecting us. They are speaking in the only tongue you speak." Cassandra's cinnamon eyes found Zanneth's. "Her words are for _you_, Zanneth."

The so-called Herald nodded her understanding. She was unfamiliar with politics. Her people could not afford such strange maneuverings. To Zanneth it seemed fake – how could decisions be made based on rumors and grandstanding gestures, on empty words and shrouded favors? But she agreed that this was not her world, so she merely tried to not look like she had while walking through the city – namely, gawking – an instead focused her gaze forward.

"Together we mourn our Divine." The cleric's accent was strange to Zanneth's ears. She had never truly heard its like. Hints of it could be heard in Cassandra's voice, as well as the deaf spymaster's. But this was thick, originating in the back of the cleric's throat. It honestly sounded uncomfortable to Zanneth.

"Her naïve and beautiful heart was silenced by treachery!"

"This is going somewhere. Where are you going with this, you insipid, vapid little girl?" Cassandra hissed, eyes intent upon the cleric speaking. "I swear that woman is younger than _Revka_."

"You wonder what will become of her murderer?" the cleric asked, arms out and up, looking around at the crowd. "Well, wonder no more! Behold! The so-called 'Herald of Andraste'!" she shouted with a flourish, pointing toward Cassandra and Zanneth. The crowd immediately parted to reveal the two of them, an almost-comical gasp rising as one from the gathered crowd. "Claiming to rise where our beloved Most Holy fell! We say this is a _false prophet_! The Maker would send us no _elf_ in our hour of need!"

Contempt surrounded her. But one voice stood out to Zanneth's sensitive ears. Eyes darting, the huntress spotted a glint of gold hair, and then she saw someone half-hidden behind a pillar at the edge of the square.

"Piss-pot," the voice said. Zanneth was sure it came from the figure in the distance. The figure moved, and Zanneth discovered it was an elven woman. _Interesting…_

Meanwhile, Cassandra, ever-stoic, unwilling to back down, was speaking. "Divine Justinia would not have wanted this! _I_ was her Right Hand! She would have wanted compassion! She would have wanted peace! She would not have wished us even more divided than before!"

"And look where it got her!" the cleric shouted, no longer keeping up the farce of addressing the crowd at large, her contemptuous eyes narrowed at Cassandra.

Zanneth cut in before Cassandra could answer. The politics were unimportant, and Cassandra was being pulled in to them by answering the accusation about Divine Justinia. "You claim I am your enemy!" Zanneth shouted. "The Breach in the sky is the _true_ enemy! We _must_ unite in order to stop it, to close it!"

Cassandra gasped next to her, but picked up where the elf left off without much pause. "It's true! The Inquisition seeks to close the Breach, to end this madness before it's too late! We seek nothing from or against the Chantry!"

"It is already too late!" the cleric declared, and she turned, moving back to reveal the great, arching doorways into the cathedral. Out poured a company of armored men and women, a flaming sword embossed on their chest plates, led by a man in a tabard exquisitely embroidered with a sigil not unlike the symbol Cassandra bore when they were in Haven.

Cassandra hissed in her breath. "That… is Lord Seeker Lucius!"

"The templars have returned to the Chantry!" the cleric announced, her surety in her victory clear upon her face. "They will face this 'Inquisition,' and the people will be safe once more!"

What happened next wiped the look clear off her face, but Zanneth pitied her for it, no matter how satisfying it was to see that expression disappear. The man leading the group of soldiers reared back as he passed the cleric, bringing his fist forward and hitting her upside the back of her head. She cried out, hitting the ground, and then his boot was buried in her gut.

The crowd gasped as one again, backing away from the steps. All except Cassandra and Zanneth, who continued standing where they had come to a stop before. Zanneth knew that, when faced with a bear, one did not run, or one would be _overrun_.

"Still yourself!" the leader shouted to his soldiers, as well as the crowd. "She is beneath us!"

"So he's not here for us, then?" Zanneth asked quietly, for Cassandra's ears only.

"These… these are the rest of the templars from the White Spire," Cassandra explained, eyes darting from face to face. "Lord Seeker Lucius leads them in open defiance of the Chantry… literally out of the Chantry's doors."

The man turned, disdainful eyes fixing on Zanneth. "Her claim to authority is an insult. Much like your own."

"Lord Seeker Luc-"

"You will not address me," the man said, taking the steps down to the square, his disdain now fixed on Cassandra. "You _left_. And created a heretical movement. You raised up this elven _puppet_ as Andraste's prophet. You should be ashamed."

"We are not here for your precious Chantry!" Zanneth shouted, getting his attention. "We need to seal the Breach! We came to speak with what leaders were left of the Chantry, but I do not claim to be your prophet's Chosen!"

She was so tired of this misconception.

"Oh, the Breach is indeed a threat," the Lord Seeker growled, eyes narrowed upon Zanneth. "But _you_ certainly have no power to do anything about it." Zanneth began to raise her hand, to _show_ them the mark upon it, but Cassandra caught her wrist, and Zanneth saw the slightest of headshakes from the warrior. She put her hand back at her side. "I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void! _We_ deserve recognition, independence! We will crush the beastly mages, and we will protect the world against the Breach!"

Looking to his men and women in arms, he shouted, "Templars! This steaming, festering pile of a city is _unworthy_ of our protection! We march!"

The templars followed him out of the main square of the Grand Cathedral, the crowd dispersing quickly after they left. Zanneth and Cassandra stayed, watching the templars and the people abandon the Chantry.

"He has gone mad," Cassandra said, shaking her head.

"What… just happened?" Zanneth asked.

"The templars did our work for us." Cassandra's voice was full of utter contempt. "By striking the cleric, Lord Seeker Lucius has publicly humiliated the Chantry. Their word… will have no more meaning, not until order is reestablished and a new Divine selected."

Zanneth's eyes landed on the woman curled on the ground, several other clerics fussing nearby. "Isn't that what we wanted?"

"Yes, but I would never resort to violence against the clergy to get it!" Cassandra spat.

Zanneth stared wide-eyed. The Seeker's chest heaved, and she wore such a look of disgust on her regal features that it actually managed to make her look ugly for a moment. It was fleeting, however. Cassandra shook her head, took a deep breath, and it was gone, replaced by her much more customary look of impatience.

"Come. We should discuss this with the others, and we should _leave_ the city."

"Should… should we talk to them? Maybe help her?"

Cassandra got a shrewd look. Raising her voice, she shouted, "Can we help you? We have a healer with us at the inn."

"To the Void with you, heathen!" one of them shouted back.

Cassandra raised a brow down at Zanneth.

"Why?" the elf asked, furrowing her brows. "Why would they refuse?"

Cassandra smiled slightly, huffing out a laugh. "They have been publicly humiliated, Zanneth. But still they cling to their pride. They cannot go back on their word that we are heretics. Accepting our help would be just that. They will stick by their word, directly into the grave… until the Inquisition has enough influence and proves itself. Then they will come walking imperiously to our door and demand to be included, and possibly even try to command our movements." The human rolled her eyes. "Be thankful the Dalish do not have politics. It is the most cumbersome of layers of society."

The human turned, clearly ready to leave. "Come. We should inform the others. We might even be able to leave _today_, if we are fast enough."

"Hold on just a moment," Zanneth said, remembering the figure she'd seen at the edge of the square. "Stay here." Moving purposefully, Zanneth disappeared into the shadow of a pillar, moving from shadow to shadow searching for the blonde elven woman she'd seen. _This is not unlike moving in the forest_, she thought to herself as she walked.

"Wondered when you'd get your arse over here," a nasal voice said. It was most assuredly _not_ Orlesian. It sounded much like the accents of the various servants Zanneth had heard around Haven. "You puckered Dalish always take your time?"

Zanneth blinked a few times, taking in the elven woman who had stepped out of the shadows in front of her. She was of a height with Zanneth, with uneven blonde hair that didn't go past her chin, somewhat tattered tunic and trousers - and armed to the teeth. She had a bow of plain but sturdy make, a quiver full of arrows, and several daggers at her hip. Her ears were small, but still the tips parted her hair, peeking through quite obviously. She stood with her arms crossed, her hip cocked, and her eyes narrowed. Zanneth couldn't help but notice that the woman's face was dusted with freckles – and it bore no _vallaslin_.

This woman was a flat-ear.

"I… don't know what you mean," Zanneth finally said, her voice soft in the shadows.

"I saw you see me, yeah? Your ears perked up like a dog's an' everythin'. Figured you'd come to me, but you sure took your sweet time doin' it." The blonde woman looked Zanneth up and down, her eyes coming to rest on her left hand. Zanneth's eyes followed, and she saw that her palm had its ever-present glow, quite noticeable here in the shadows. "So it's true? You're the Herald thingy?"

"The Herald… _thingy_?"

"Y'know, you glow green, just like the rip in the sky. They say you can close it. That true? The Inquisition thingy can do somethin'? Normalize this mess, yeah?"

"I… _hope_, though I don't have enough power on my own… I'm sorry, who are you?"

The elf girl smiled. "Oh, right, yeah. I'm Sera. I want to join your Inquisition thingy."

Zanneth narrowed her eyes. "You want to _join_?"

"Yeah! An' I have a whole network of Red Jenny friends who'd be workin' for you, too!"

"Who's Red Jenny?"

"Me! Well, I'm one. There's one in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall. There were three in Starkhaven. Brothers or somethin'."

"But… you just said your name is Sera…"

The blonde elf sighed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, _I'm_ Sera. But, accordin' to Friends of Red Jenny, _I'm_ Red Jenny."

"And the Friends of Red Jenny are…?"

"_People_!" The other elf's tone was exasperated.

"I don't follow," Zanneth finally said. "You're Sera, but also Red Jenny, and you have friends?"

"Yeah! See? Simple, innit? Wait… you never heard of us? Guess it makes sense; you been runnin' around the forest your whole life. Tell you what. Lemme follow to your hideaway an' I'll tell all when we get there, yeah? I believe in Andraste; never liked the Grand Cathedral, though. Too… well… grand!" She paused, eyeing Zanneth for a moment before murmuring, "Didn't expect you to be pretty. Hope you're not too elfy."

Zanneth immediately blushed. "I, erm… I'll introduce you to Cassandra," she stammered, turning and hurrying out of the shadows of the pillars.

"Who is this?" Cassandra asked almost immediately.

"She… wants to join the Inquisition," Zanneth said, turning and eyeing the other elf's smile. "She… said she would explain who she is once we get to the tavern?"

Making a disgusted sound, Cassandra turned. "Fine. Let's get moving. I never liked it out here. This is the face we show the people. It is disgusting. We should be feeding the hungry, not covering our holdings in marble and gold."

"Oh, I'm gonna like _you_!" the blonde elf announced, skipping after Cassandra with a wink at Zanneth. The Dalish elf merely stared after them for a moment, utterly perplexed, before hurrying to catch them up.


	12. A Surprise

_A/N: A **smidge** NSFW there at the end. Just a teensy, weensy bit._

_Also, sorry this took so long. But most of the next chapter is written, so hopefully you won't have to wait so long for the next one. _

* * *

_Chapter 12: A Surprise_

Revka could not concentrate on her work. She didn't know what to do, or who she could talk to. She couldn't speak with Josephine of this. The woman was far too proper, and had therefore likely never had any experience with something like this. Not that she was _completely _innocent in the way of things… but Revka could not imagine the woman had ever made a single mistake in her life. Cullen was the obvious choice, but he was a man. He had no true knowledge of such things, and besides that, while it did involve him, Revka wanted _advice_, a confidante, before she spoke with him. He would simply overreact, and that was not what the younger Amell girl needed right now.

Leliana was the obvious choice. They were sisters in all but name, and the former bard had been a confidante and mentor of sorts to Revka for years. But… her paramour was a woman. Would she understand?

_Really? She used to be a bard. It is not as though Solona is the only person Leliana has __**ever**__ bedded. She is either barren, or far more careful than __**I**_.

Truthfully, Revka was _embarrassed_. She feared chastisement. But she ought not to. Leliana was kind, and even though the world was utter chaos at the moment, the spymaster would have time for her family. Right?

Making her decision, Revka left hers and Josephine's office in the Chantry, finding Leliana and her two burly mabari at her tent outside. The dogs' heads perked up, and then Leliana was turning, frowning until she saw who approached. The spymaster looked immediately concerned, however. _Probably because I wear my feelings on my face around her, just as Solona does._

"Is everything all right, Revka?"

The diplomat shook her head. Now that she was here, her feelings threatened to overwhelm her. Leliana was beside her in a heartbeat, tugging her back into the shadows and relative privacy of the Chantry.

"What is the matter, Revka?"

Revka took a deep breath, looked straight into Leliana's eyes, and said the words in a whisper. "I am with child, Leliana."

The spymaster's eyes got very big. She leaned forward and hissed, "You are certain?"

"This is my second time not bleeding, and I have been sick in the mornings more often than not since… for more than a week." She had been about to say, "since the Conclave," but upon reflection that would have been rather tactless.

Leliana pursed her lips, took Revka by the sleeve, and led her elsewhere.

They ended up in the larder, and Leliana was speaking as soon as the door was shut. "How were you not careful?! We have the herbs here, well-stocked, should anyone need them!"

The spymaster turned, holding out several pinched-off leaves that Revka knew would make a bitter brew. She was not fond of it. And she would have to drink a great deal of it in order to be assured the pregnancy was well and truly ended. Not to mention the discomfort of the miscarriage it would cause. She took the herbs from her friend, but still felt the need to defend herself.

"He doesn't finish…" _Oh dear, saying these things out loud is far more awkward than I thought…_

"What?" Leliana said, impatient.

"_Inside_," Revka finished, feeling her cheeks flare.

Leliana raised a single eyebrow. "Really? Every time? _Every time_ he finishes elsewhere? Because you would not be in this predicament if that were true."

"Maker, I didn't know this would be so difficult to speak of…"

Leliana merely fixed her with a sardonic look. "You can _do_ it, but you cannot _speak_ of it?"

"This is new to me, Leliana! I was always careful in Orlais, but this… this is different! I never stayed the night, never minded getting up and drinking the awful tea, and _never_ met anyone I came back to again and again like this! But this…"

"What?"

"It's _him_," Revka said, shoulders slumping slightly. "He is… so wonderfully _him_. I stay every night. We are not always careful, because I want nothing more than to be closer to him. He brings me such pleasure, and… I love him." She looked down at the herbs in her hands. Pushing them back toward Leliana, she added, "And I don't think I want these."

Leliana took the herbs, cocking her head to the side, clearly puzzled. "You… _want_ the child?"

"I… I think I do. I think I need to go speak with Cullen…" Now Leliana looked as panicked as Revka had felt not five minutes before. "Leliana? What is wrong?"

"I pursued this option first. I didn't even think you might… You love him. Of _course_ you might want this child. Maker, I feel a monster, Revka."

Revka shook her head, emphatic. "No, Leliana. Do not do that. You have such tremendous guilt… I came to you for a confidante, but I also came to you for this," she said, indicating the herbs. "Now that I am here, however… I want _this_." She indicated her belly, though of course she was not yet showing. "Or, at least, I want to discuss it with Cullen. But you are _not_ a monster, Leliana."

Leliana nodded. "You are right. And this is not about me. It is just… this _place_, the things that happened here during the Blight as well as the Conclave… I killed a boy bent on killing Solona, in this very building! I am still out of sorts and I don't know how to find my center again. I wish…"

Revka stopped her, hand on her shoulder. "I know, Leliana. And I wish, as well. You are each other's center. And she is missing everything by being away. But I have to believe that the Divine would not send her away to do something that could be done by another. And something tells me we have not seen the last of her. Perhaps it is foolish dreaming, but I cannot ignore the feeling."

Leliana held her gaze for a moment. "You are so young, and so sure. How do you do it?"

Revka smiled. "I had incredibly good teachers in my sisters. Now come. I disturbed your work. You go back to it, and I… will speak with Cullen. The poor man has one hell of an afternoon ahead of him… and after so recently reconciling about Solona, too."

The corners of Leliana's lips turned down at that. "So it _was_ an argument, then?"

Revka nodded, sighing. "It took us days to sort it out completely. He was wrong for keeping it from me, and I could have perhaps been less defensive. But this… that is child's play compared to this. This will make us or break us, I imagine."

Leliana pulled her into a fierce embrace. "And I will still be here for either outcome. For celebration or commiseration. And it is still early yet. If you need… just let me know if you change your mind, yes? I would not have you go through that alone. I have done it. I do not recommend it."

Revka smiled, hugging Leliana tightly in return. "If I could tell you all I have already, then I can definitely tell you that. But… I have a good feeling. I think this will all be all right, in the end."

Releasing her, Leliana nodded. "Come. I will not keep you from your errand."

They left the larder together, the herbs back in their place on the shelf.

* * *

Zanneth frowned. "I'm glad you all understand what's going on, but can someone please explain to _me_?"

Varric chuckled around a mouthful of ale. "It'd be easy if you spent any time in a city, Zanneth," he said once he'd swallowed. "In any city, you've got a wide variety of people, with a wide variety of wealth. You've got the rich nobles with servants who they tell to do shit for them. You've got the middle class like me, who actually _work_ for their wealth, and you've got the dirt-poor who have to eke out a living emptying chamber pots as servants or maybe work on the dock or in a brothel or something like that. There are varying levels in there, but that's essentially the three layers, getting bigger from the top down. Sera here has a network of that third level. It's the largest, and it's the most resentful with the truest reasons for that resentment.

"And let me tell you – nobles think nothing of them. Servants hear all _kinds_ of shit nobles wouldn't want other nobles to hear. Servants see things no one should have to see. Servants are blackmailed and cajoled into _doing_ things no one should ever have to do. Red Jenny's 'Friends' are these people, and they've got it out for the nobles who've wronged them. It's their only recourse against the upper classes, and it feels even better because it comes from a place the nugshit-eating nobility would _never_ have guessed – the people who empty their chamber pots, cook their meals, and, on occasion, have barely-consensual sex with them when they're bored. Nobles think they have all this power. But it would crumble around them if the lower classes could be rallied.

"Luckily for the nobility… the poor are so downtrodden and blind to their own power in their numbers, it would take an act of the Maker Himself in order to actually rally them effectively," Varric finished, taking another pull at his flagon.

"Somehow I feel like that novel you just recited could have been much shorter," Cassandra muttured darkly, brows furrowed. "You speak in paragraphs, Varric."

"Ah, but would it have been as thorough? As pretty?" the dwarf asked, winking at Zanneth. The Dalish elf chuckled quietly, shaking her head. She agreed with Cassandra that Varric was rather long-winded, but still she could not deny that he had given her a better picture of something entirely foreign to her.

Zanneth cleared her throat before addressing Sera, who was matching the heavier dwarf drink for drink without showing her drunkenness. Perhaps elves could drink more than the other races? Zanneth did not know – she was only just barely keeping meals down and did not wish to try this bitter-smelling brew they imbibed. "So you… _organize_ all the complaints of the little people, as you call them, and arrange nasty accidents for nobles, essentially?"

"Right!" the blonde elf said, her tone bright as she nodded enthusiastically. "Glad you fin'ly get it! Not always nasty like death, sometimes just nasty like… one time I stole a whole guard company's knickers, right? Then started a fire in the back of the barracks and they had to run out without breeches! Public humiliation of their lord. It was the funniest thin' to watch! Oh, and they were talkin' about it for _weeks_!" Sera laughed loudly, slamming the table. "No breeches!" she shouted, before devolving into a fit of mad cackling.

"This is all so… new," Zanneth murmured, shaking her head.

"How so?" Cassandra asked.

"The Dalish do not have cities, Cassandra." It was Solas who answered. He didn't seem to notice the slight frown Zanneth threw his way. Why did he know so much about the Dalish and yet claimed not to be part of a clan at any point in his life? "All are on equal standing in a clan, pulling their weight equally. It is true that some have different roles, like the Keeper and his First, who are perhaps above the rest by the simple fact that they lead the clan. But in the end, everyone has a role to fill for the greater good of the clan as a whole."

"Sounds an awful lot like the Qun," Bull chimed in. His eye wandered from person to person, full of lust, but his ears listened. Zanneth liked that. Quite honestly, Zanneth liked _him_, despite thinking what he'd said about her leading the humans' Inquisition laughable. _Solas_ just left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Indeed. Though less rigid, it is true that it looks more like the Qun than it does human society," Solas said, nodding his head. "Though I do not agree with the role of the Keeper, personally."

"What is wrong with the role of the Keeper?" Zanneth could not keep her tone neutral.

Her grandmother, her only living family and the one to raise her and Hyune, was the Keeper of her clan. She was warm and soft, but stern when needed, and fulfilled her role well, guiding their clan to prosperous places, even while their normal hunting grounds had been inaccessible to them during this bloody human conflict.

Solas's hazel eyes – sometimes looking brown, sometimes looking blue – snapped to Zanneth's. "The Keeper's role as mage and leader of the clan, providing guidance and keeping the peace, is laudable. It is magic and wisdom combined to keep the clan safe, to keep the unit cohesive. But as a Keeper of Lore… the Dalish fumble in the dark, using words and half-remembered customs that are theirs no longer. It would be best to come up with new traditions, new magicks, than to try to keep alive a thing long-dead." His eyes roved over her face as he spoke, his nostrils puckering in a manner that suggested a foul smell. "You never know if you're keeping alive a tradition that ought to be left for the ages to consume."

"And what do you know of it?" Zanneth demanded, sitting up straighter in her seat. She could feel Cassandra stiffen next to her. The others fell silent, and even Bull pulled his gaze from whatever pretty form he planned next to seduce, watching Zanneth and Solas intently. "I see no _vallaslin_ upon your face. You hail from no Dalish clan. What right have you to judge us for how we _choose_ to live? Your disdain has no basis – you merely think yourself better, than us _and_ the flat-ears, and judge us in the meantime."

"Look, I don't like egg-head here anymore'n you do, but you hafta admit the Dalish have their heads up their arses," Sera said, pulling both other elves' attention to her. "You think _he_ thinks he's better'n you? _You_ think you're better'n _us_. Call us 'flat-ear' an' dismiss us like we're no better'n the mud on your boots. You just did it, too! You're _both_ pretentious arseholes with your heads swellin' so big with your own importance that you can't see the other people in the world. 'Elf' this an' 'lethallan' that. People are _people_ an' they all deserve to be helped! Not just because they have pointy ears an' run around a forest killin' deer or whatever you do. Your 'traditions' are meanin'less in the face of hunger an' the killin' of innocents to keep 'em quiet!"

Zanneth blinked a moment, dumbfounded. Sera seemed so… _flighty_. But the words that had just come out of her mouth were accusatory. And smart. And well thought-out. And they angered Zanneth. How dare she dismiss the Dalish so quickly? She knew nothing of life out in the forest!

_But she was right. You called her flat-ear, dismissed her and her kind, right in front of her. Are you no better than Solas?_

_That's different_, she countered internally, defiant. _The flat-ears have lost their way._

_Or perhaps they just have a different way_.

Cassandra cut in before more anger could be slung across the table. "Is that why you want to join the Inquisition, Sera? To help the common person? Elf and human and dwarf and everyone else?"

The blonde elf nodded. "Yeah. We need thin's normal again so coin an' favors an' news can flow. An'… well, I have people, contacts, that no one else prob'ly thought to have, yeah? People up there like you, shoving your cods around, don't really _think _of the little people. I can bring a whole network of 'em to you. Eyes 'n ears 'n whatnot. An' you've got the Herald! An' there's a blighted _hole_ in the sky! An'… I want to help, all righ'? If you don't want me then just say so, but I think my people can help. I think _I_ can help."

Zanneth, temper still simmering from the argument that Cassandra had forcefully diverted them all from, still did not miss the Seeker's blinking in shock. Cassandra had clearly not expected that answer.

Before anyone could say anything more, however, Zanneth's ears picked up a peculiar sound. Years of light sleeping and hunting for her survival took over, and before she even knew what she was doing, the Dalish elf was throwing herself into Cassandra's lap. A dagger plunged into the wooden table instead of Zanneth's neck. The hand holding it tried in vain to pull the weapon out of the wood, giving the Dalish elf a chance to look up at the man. He looked frightened, as his blow had not connected and he was now weaponless.

The world was pandemonium. Bull was on his feet and leaping over the table in a heartbeat, knocking the man back. Cassandra found her feet, lifted Zanneth with her, and drew a dagger all in the same move. Varric, too, was on his feet, his crossbow loaded and aimed at the man's face. Sera was already gone from Zanneth's side. She had the Herald's would-be assassin on his knees, his arm wrenched behind his back. He squirmed and she twisted further, and Zanneth's sensitive ears heard the _pop_ that told her his shoulder had been jerked from its socket.

Well, his squeal of pain told her that, too.

_Strong for a city elf_, Zanneth thought to herself.

All was then suddenly quiet. Bull approached the man, all hard muscle and murderous demeanor, cracking the knuckles of his fists in a threatening manner. "Talk," was all he said, but it made the hairs on the back of Zanneth's neck rise. She and Cassandra moved forward to get a better look at the man.

"That's the heretic! The one who killed the Divine! Who put the hole in the sky! I heard 'em outside the Cathedral!" He whimpered. His forehead was covered in sweat. And his ravings were high-pitched and almost crazy-sounding. Almost. Zanneth watched as those in the common room with them began gasping and whispering. They believed him.

_By the Dread Wolf, did this really have to happen __**now**__?_ Zanneth had been hoping for one more night not on a ship. She was enjoying being able to keep her meals down.

"Out of my inn!" the proprietor was yelling, brandishing his own crossbow. "I don't want no heretics here! And take that charlatan with you. No one attempts murder in my tavern. Honestly, the holy city of Val Royeaux, and you're busting heads and pulling weapons… Out!"

Bull smirked, grabbing the man by his tunic as Sera released him. "Come on, little man. We'll continue this talk _outside_," he growled. Sera skipped after them, while Varric and Solas headed immediately to their rooms to gather their things.

"Come," Cassandra said to Zanneth, replacing her dagger in its sheath. "We need to get our things, as well."

"Lady Pentaghast?"

Zanneth and Cassandra turned as one to see an elven servant in the fineries of some House or other – Zanneth of course could not say which – approach them. "Yes?" Cassandra said, everything about her manner tense, on alert. "Are you here to cause more trouble?"

"On the contrary," he said, his accent clear that he did not originally hail from Orlais. "I come on behalf of Madame de Fer. She heard you were in the city and wished to extend an invitation to her wing of the de Ghyslain estates. I was not sure it was you until the unfortunate display I just witnessed. It… seems you are in need of lodgings?"

Cassandra sighed, shaking her head as she relaxed. "Yes, it would appear that we are. Am I to assume Madame de Fer offers her guest rooms to us?"

The man smiled, nodding. "Indeed, you are correct. Do you accept the invitation?"

Cassandra looked to Zanneth. "We have nowhere else to go. No inn in the city will take us after that public display of violence, even if we did not start it."

"Then I suppose we have little choice," the elf said. "Is traveling with you always this much of an adventure?"

"Sometimes," Cassandra said, a wry smile on her lips. "Though I suspect the excitement has a great deal to do with _you_," she added, eyes on Zanneth's now-gloved left hand. Looking up to the elven servant, Cassandra nodded. "Yes, we accept. I regret that we will not meet Madame de Fer's likely exquisite taste in fashion, however, as we have been traveling."

"An understandable condition," the elf said with a bow. "My Lady will be able to compensate without problem. I will await your convenience out in the street. I have a carriage. Though it will not accommodate… _every_ member of your party, I fear."

Zanneth chuckled. "The Iron Bull can keep up on foot. Indeed, I believe he could trot all day through the countryside carrying me on his shoulders. He will be fine."

The servant smiled, nodding. "Very well. I will see you when you are ready to depart."

Shaking her head, Cassandra moved past Zanneth. "Come. Gathering our things will take precious little time."

* * *

"There appears to be some of soiree in progress," Varric said, looking out the carriage window.

Cassandra frowned. "Really? Of all nights for us to arrive as guests here, it has to be on the night of a ridiculous party?" she muttered. She hated the parties of the Orlesian nobility. She barely had the patience for them at the best of times. Now, after _this_ day? She already felt drained and she had not even seen the party with her own eyes.

Their elven guide looked unsure. "Is Lady Pentaghast concerned about proper attire? I assure you, we can have you cleaned and dressed in no time."

Cassandra sighed, looking to the polite young man. _Or old. Damn these elven faces, they are so difficult to place in age_. "It is not that. I am afraid I never developed a taste for… parties." Even the word felt sour in her mouth. "The Orlesian Game never suited me."

"The Seeker prefers hitting her problems to make them go away," Varric quipped, earning a chuckle from Solas.

Cassandra glowered, looking away. "I will make do. I do not wish to seem an ungrateful guest. It has just been... a trying day."

"This is a fair point," Solas said. His expression was _almost_ a smile. Sometimes Cassandra wanted to punch it off his smug face. "You watched that display at the Chantry, picked up_ this_… creature-"

"Hey!" Sera complained, leaning over Cassandra to try to smack Solas. "'M not an idiot! I can read your tone just fine, piss-face!"

Cassandra suddenly sat forward, reaching for the door. "That's enough!" she shouted. "I will walk the rest of the way! I tire of riding with _children_!" Opening the door, she was out of the carriage and on her feet.

It took several seconds for her to realize she was not alone. "I'm sorry I let her come along," Zanneth's voice sounded softly behind her.

Cassandra turned with a start, eyes on the elf's boots. "I had no idea you had followed me. Are your boots magic of some sort?"

Zanneth's smile was small. "No. I merely learned how to walk the forest without upsetting even a twig. Cobblestone is simple to walk silently upon, in comparison."

"Right." Cassandra turned, walking in the carriage's wake. Up ahead, next to the carriage, The Iron Bull had turned, cocking his great head to the side at them. Cassandra shook her head, gesturing him away. He shrugged and turned around again, trotting to keep up with the carriage.

Zanneth tried again. "I… hope you're not upset with me?"

"What? Oh. No, I am not upset with any of you. And as much as I do not personally enjoy her company, I do believe Sera is right that her network could be useful to us. And she was _immediate_ in protecting _you_. In hindsight I should have let Sera smack Solas, honestly. Whether or not she grates on my nerves, it was rather rude to insult her so, particularly in front of that servant. No, I am just… nothing about this day has gone as I had hoped. Even the fact that the Chantry will no longer be a problem happened in the worst possible way."

Zanneth nodded, walking silently next to her. Cassandra took a moment to study the Dalish elf. The first thing one saw was her white fuzz of hair, growing ever longer, and the deep-red crawling tattoos upon her pale visage. If one looked past these, one would see deep, dark brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a forehead which sloped directly into the delicate bridge of her nose, as did all elves'. Her lips were the same red as her tattoos, and her ears were long, even for an elf, extending back past the line of her scalp.

But underneath… underneath, Cassandra saw so much. Those tattoos, acquired at the cusp of adulthood, had to have been _painful_. To withstand such was impressive. And to know they extended beyond her face? Cassandra was doubly impressed. And the elf possessed such grace, such poise. Perhaps not in the traditional sense – if she were to be put into a dress, she would likely _not_ be the picture of feminine grace – but she walked silently and carefully, like a cat stalking a mouse at every turn. Her impassive expression belied the thought she put into every word, every action. Her silence, too, spoke to how much consideration Zanneth gave everything around her.

Being in a city such as Val Royeaux must have been sensory overload for the poor elf, accustomed to the rhythm and sway of the forest as she was.

"This must all be very confusing for you," Cassandra ventured.

Zanneth's eyes snapped to her own. "Yes. It is all very strange. It's so… so _loud_ here. I thought Haven was noisy and chaotic, but it is nothing compared to what I have seen in this place."

"And it is about to get louder and more chaotic, in some ways," Cassandra mused, smirking. "Stay by my side, and I shall ward off those easily intimidated. We are stepping into a party, and the small-minded nobles of Orlais will be upon the Dalish curiosity like… well, like flies on shit."

Zanneth snorted a laugh, making Cassandra smile. The expression suited the elf's visage. Quietly, she hoped to put it there more often.

They walked the rest of the way to the estate in the distance in silence. But it was comfortable. The evening air was becoming chilled, though walking in her traveling leathers kept the Seeker perfectly warm. Zanneth, too, seemed completely happy with the brisk walk despite the chill. _Of course she is_, Cassandra thought to herself. _How much colder is the forest at night, alone on a hunt?_

They reached the estate just as the carriage was pulling away to take their baggage up to their rooms. Cassandra shook her head at the eclectic band of _misfits_ she had with her. Three elves, a dwarf, and a bloody _qunari_. How they had made it _this_ far the Seeker could not rightly say.

To Cassandra's surprise, Madame de Fer – whom the Seeker knew as Lady Vivienne – met them upon the steps. Her appearance was striking, designed at every point to strike doubt into the minds and hearts of those she encountered. She was enshrouded in mystery, playing upon the fear of mages while at the same time disarming with her polite speech, cultured accent, and the peculiar way she could look down her nose at you even should you stand taller than her. She was a courtier and a powerful mage, and she did not let you forget either fact whilst in her presence.

"Ah, Seeker Pentaghast," came the high, elegant voice, speaking in the common tongue.

"Lady Vivienne," Cassandra greeted, parting the crowd of her companions and stepping forward to take the enchantress's outstretched hand. The woman was masked, her characteristic high headdress making her an indomitable figure, but her manner was all shrewd politeness. Indeed, the woman was always so cold Cassandra fancied she felt a permanent chill in the air when she was near.

After a kiss on each cheek by the masked woman, they parted, looking each other up and down. Vivienne spoke first. "I swear, my dear, that even if you dragged yourself through mud and fire, you would stand more elegantly before me than anyone I have ever met. It is _good_ to see you again, especially with the chaos that has befallen our lands."

Cassandra smirked. They were not close, but they had of course met in court, and she had found they were of a similar mind on many things. Never openly, of course – what player of the Game spoke openly of what they thought? But nonetheless, Cassandra knew some of Lady Vivienne's mind, and it aligned with her own thinking more often than not.

"I admit I was surprised by the timeliness of your invitation. You had eyes in the Cathedral's square?"

"One must keep oneself informed, darling, I'm sure you understand. That you would join me _tonight_, however, was a complete surprise."

"Yes, well. We found ourselves… _ejected_ from our lodgings."

Lady Vivienne's eyes traveled to each of Cassandra's companions in turn as she said, "I simply cannot imagine why."

The Seeker smirked yet again. "Surprisingly, the eclectic nature of our little group was not what did it. Someone took it upon himself to rid of the world of Andraste's Herald after hearing what the clerics had to say about her. Attempt murder in an inn, and the proprietor throws all parties out, no matter who initiated the violence."

"So it is true? You have the Herald here with you?"

Cassandra nodded, turning and beckoning to Zanneth. The elf stepped forward, looking unsure, though not shy in any way. Indeed, she held herself tall, her back straight, her weapons carried with an ease born of practice. "Yes. This is the one they call Andraste's Herald. Though her name is Zanneth, of the Lavellan clan. Zanneth, this is the Lady Vivienne, First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle and Enchantress to the Imperial Court."

"Charmed, dear," the mage said, holding out her hand for Zanneth to take. The elf again looked unsure, but she took the woman's hand and did a fair imitation of a curtsey. Cassandra was surprised. _Where did she learn that?_ A quick look at Varric's pleased expression and nod of approval informed her of the answer. _At least he is good for something other than a story over a pint_, she thought, hiding her derisive snort.

"I am grateful for the invitation to stay as your guest," Zanneth said, her voice clear, in its upper register, as it had been in the Cathedral square. Normally, it was low and husky in comparison. But Cassandra usually only heard the elf when it was the two of them and she was speaking quietly, candidly. The idea that Cassandra had heard the elf's "true" voice made her stomach flutter the slightest bit, for reasons the Seeker could not _begin_ to unravel.

"You are more than welcome, dear," Vivienne intoned, eyes shrewd under her mask. That was the problem with masks. Most people wearing them assumed their expressions were hidden. But the eyes were clearly visible, and Cassandra, ever the warrior, knew to look _there_ for a person's true intent.

But Vivienne knew this as well. She had to. So she was either not hiding her expression purposely, or it was affected for their benefit. What was her game?

_The problem with the Game. It makes you assume everything is a game. Thank the Maker the Divine did not play such games with myself and Leliana._

"Come inside, please. I am sure you are tired and hungry. You are more than welcome to the soiree, but I would imagine a quiet evening is in order for most of you." Her eyes landed upon Bull, and it was clear to Cassandra that Vivienne did not particularly want the giant qunari in her party among her other guests. Cassandra almost chuckled. From what she had gleaned of the woman over the years, she very much liked to have control of a situation. The Iron Bull was one giant wrench in _anyone's_ control.

The enchantress led them all inside, and they were quickly shown to their rooms.

* * *

"Use your shield! If he were your enemy, you'd be dead!" Cullen shouted over the field. His more experienced soldiers, as well as those of the Bull's Chargers, were sparring with the raw recruits who had enlisted after the Conclave. Most of them had spent their lives as fishermen and maids, dockworkers and laundresses, farmers and fieldhands. Nearly all of them had families, children running around the village. Thank the Maker no children had gone up to the Temple for the Conclave. Dead people were bad enough. But dead children? Cullen was hard-pressed to think of anything more tragic than broken little bodies in the devastation.

Cullen had seen far too much of that particular horror. The children of the Ferelden Circle Tower had mostly been saved, by the Senior Enchanter Wynne and her apprentices. Only one or two of them had been taken by Uldred and his accomplices, all of them turned to abominations, as they were too young, too undisciplined to withstand the pressure. It was disgusting.

The children of Kirkwall had not been spared Meredith's insanity, however. Cullen had watched Damian Hawke put down her crazed elf companion who had taken up Meredith's insane cause. _He_ had been the one to not compromise. Even the templars who agreed with Meredith had sent the mage children on their way, warning them to find a safe place to hide until the chaos was over. But that elf… Cullen had met him once or twice. Fenris was his name. The commander had watched the former Tevinter slave _slaughter_ mage children who came running his way for _help_. If Hawke had not gotten there first, Cullen would have executed the man for his crimes, without any hesitation. But Hawke had beaten him to it, a scream of rage so pure falling from her lips that Cullen had thanked the Maker fate had never put himself and the Champion of Kirkwall at odds. He had not been sure he would live to tell the tale had they ever.

Cullen's musings were cut short by the familiar light touch of a hand to his shoulder. Turning, he saw Revka had walked up behind him. He greeted her with a warm hug, but could immediately tell that something was the matter. She did not relax into his embrace, and as he pulled away, he saw the tense set to her shoulders, the line between her brows. She was worried.

"Revka? Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I need to speak with you. Right now." Her eyes darted around as she added, "Privately."

Cullen furrowed his brow. "Can it not wait? I am overseeing the training…"

"I would not ask if it could wait, Cullen," she said, her voice low, her gaze intense. "I never come to you with inane requests."

He nodded. "That is true." Looking up, he called over the closest competent person he saw. "Cremesius!"

The lieutenant of the Bull's Chargers stopped what he was doing and trotted over. He was a little on the short side, and not as stockily-built as some, but he knew what he was doing, was more than willing to instruct someone bigger than him, and could deliver a thrashing with the best of them. Cullen had not yet seen the man's ass meet the ground.

"Yes, Commander?"

"The ambassador needs my attention for a moment." The set of the man's brows made it clear to Cullen what Cremesius was thinking. _I bet she does_, they said. But the man remained silent. "Keep them training until I return?"

"Not a problem, ser."

Cullen nodded. "Push them. They need to go to their beds exhausted. We do not have time to coddle our soldiers." _What few we have_, he added silently to himself.

The smaller man grinned. "It'll be my pleasure," he said, turning and immediately shouting. "All right, maggots! You heard the man! Chargers, horns up! Pretend you're the chief and give these baby-faced raw recruits a thrashing!"

Cullen chuckled. _If anyone's baby-faced, it's the man yelling right now_. Turning, the commander held his elbow out for Revka. "Will my cabin suffice?"

She took his arm with a wan smile. "That will be fine."

With the door closed behind them, Revka's nervousness increased. Cullen stood by the door, but she paced the small space of his cabin, not meeting his eyes. "Revka, please, still yourself and speak with me? Is this about your sister? I thought… I thought we had resolved that?"

Revka finally met his eyes, and he saw just how agonized she had become. "It's not that. I… find myself unsure of what to say."

He moved for her, hoping to take her into his arms, to comfort her, but she caught his shoulders, holding him at arm's length. It was… incredibly unlike her. "Revka, you are worrying me. Please tell me what is amiss?"

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and steeling herself. Without opening them, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I… think I am with child, Cullen."

He watched her lips move, heard the words, and yet it took him a moment to truly understand them. "You… you're _pregnant_? But I rarely finish… and there are herbs… have you not been taking them?"

Revka's eyes snapped open, and he knew he had said the wrong thing. "We are not _always_ careful, Cullen," she hissed, removing her hands from his shoulders and turning away from him. "And when do you see me drink the tea? I try to leave you, to take those precautions, and you simply hold on more tightly. You do not want me to leave, and I do not want to leave you. So do not pin this solely on _me_, Cullen. If left to my own devices, I _assure_ you this would not happen."

He tripped over himself to correct his error. "I did not mean blame! I just… I am shocked, Revka! I thought…" He sighed, slumping back into a chair. "A child? I had never even considered…"

She took back up her pacing. "It is not too late to take the herbs. They cause miscarriage. It… it will be painful. But I can go get them now, make the tea, and-"

"No!"

Revka stopped, turning to face him, a curious look in her eyes. She looked… hopeful. "No?"

"I…" Cullen ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "Is it so wrong to want this?"

"I want this, too, Cullen," Revka breathed, finally approaching him. She let him draw her into his lap, facing each other. Then she was kissing his forehead, cradling his face in both hands. "I have always been careful with others. But you… it's _you_, Cullen. I want you, I want your children, and… I feel foolish for wanting it."

He smirked up at her, luxuriating in her soft breaths being blown over his face. "Why foolish? Hasn't this been your goal from the start? It felt very much as though I was being hunted."

Her cheeks bloomed, her hands falling to his shoulders. "I… yes, I did have my eye on you from the start. But I would never become pregnant on purpose just to pin you down, Cullen. I _want_ you, and I want you to want _me_. Not be _stuck_ with me."

He took one of her hands in his, kissing it before looking back up into her beautiful grey eyes. "And I do. Revka…" He paused, giving the impulse that suddenly came over him a moment's thought. Did he want this? He wanted the child. And he did not want the child without this woman in his lap. Yes. Yes, he wanted this. "Will you marry me, Revka? We can be a little family. It's already here, in this space between us, and I assure you it _all_ thrives off your love, myself included."

Revka's grin was slow in forming, but oh so genuine, and then her arms were around his neck, her lips on his, her head nodding as she gasped the word "yes" over and over between kisses. They shifted, barely willing to part as their passions rose. Finally, he was inside her, surrounded by love and warmth, perfectly at home and accepted by the woman he loved. Cremesius could keep an eye on the recruits for a little longer. Making love to his intended was more important in this moment.


	13. A Wedding

_A/N: Lots of flirting ahead! Or at least, flirting-like undertones. And overtones._

* * *

_Chapter 13: A Wedding_

"I will get straight to the point, Lady Herald, Seeker Pentaghast." Zanneth watched Vivienne turn from the window out of which she had been viewing her courtyard soiree. Cassandra stood at her side, beautifully stable and solid in a world that had stopped making sense to the Dalish elf a long time ago.

They had not been able to retire for the evening just yet. Rather, Vivienne had asked for the Herald and the Seeker, letting her servants guide the others to their own guest quarters. And now, their hostess addressed the both of them, standing to her full height and regarding them imperiously.

"I detest the chaos that has gripped our lands. The rebel mages are misguided, the templars have abandoned their holy duty, and there is a breach of the Veil in the sky. I respect and _trust_ the actions of the Left and Right Hands in declaring the Inquisition. I believe you can do great things, can right this mess, and so I would join you and lend you what aid I can."

Cassandra's expression opened in shock. "You wish to join us? Leave Orlais and come to Haven?"

"Yes, Seeker Pentaghast." Vivienne's eyes shifted, and she addressed Zanneth directly. "Will you have me, Lady Herald?"

Zanneth did not know what to say. She knew nothing of this woman outside of her titles, which communicated little to the Dalish elf. But Vivienne was all confidence as she stood before Zanneth, and she did not talk down to the elf, at least no more than she talked down to anyone else she had spoken to. Looking to Cassandra gave her no guidance.

Zanneth would have to decide on her own.

"I… am afraid I know nothing of you, Lady Vivienne," Zanneth admitted, hoping she struck the right tone. In the _shemlen_'sworld, it was best not to anger them. Zanneth had no idea how to get home from here should she find herself abandoned.

"Of course, my dear, how foolish of me. You hail from a Dalish clan, do you not? You would have little idea of titles and masks and politics. I am well versed in the politics of the Orlesian Empire. I know every member of the Imperial court personally. I have all the resources remaining to the Circle at my disposal, as the leader of the last _loyal_ mages in Thedas. And I am a mage of no small talent." The woman's dark eyes blinked behind her mask. "Will that do, my dear?"

Zanneth blinked up at her for a moment. "So, will you be helping us from the Imperial court?"

"Normally I would be happy to act as liaison, but in this case… no. I would join you on the field of battle, and act as _your_ liaison to the Imperial court, not the other way around."

It was Cassandra who spoke next. "That is… _incredibly_ generous, Lady Vivienne." Her eyes shifted to Zanneth's. "She would be relinquishing her position as the empress's court mage and would be missing from court for _months_ at the very least." Cassandra's eyes shifted back to Lady Vivienne's. "For one of your… _ambition_, this is generous, indeed."

"Ambition is only good for so much, Seeker Pentaghast. The Breach must be closed and the chaos must be ended. I am only sad that my fellow courtiers cannot see this. I feel no guilt in leaning on my connections to get the Inquisition what it needs, however."

Zanneth cocked her head to the side. It sounded like the perfect deal. Gain one person with many connections to others. They would have food, clothing, weapons and soldiers and training. But Zanneth knew that one rarely gained all that without some price. Among the People, yes, it might be so – whatever benefited the group was offered free of charge. But with the _shemlen_ it was not so. There had to be a price.

But Zanneth could not find it.

"I mean no disrespect whatsoever, Lady Vivienne, but all of this is new to me," Zanneth started, eyes flashing to Cassandra's for approval. "Could I perhaps have a private moment with Seeker Pentaghast? To discuss what this could mean for the Inquisition, of course."

To her surprise, Lady Vivienne smiled. "Of course, my dear. I will go check on my guests. Just let the servant on the other side of the door know when you are ready, and she shall fetch me. And please, do partake of refreshments while you talk." The mage then clapped her hands, and servants appeared through the door, laden down with several trays of food and drink with the most appealing of scents to the still-thin elf. Then the mage and the servants alike were gone, and it was just Cassandra and Zanneth, standing by the table on which the food had been laid out.

Zanneth's eyes met Cassandra's. The warrior smiled softly, holding out her hand. "By all means, eat. I would see you put on more weight. Especially since there is a ship waiting not very far in our future."

Zanneth shuddered. "Don't remind me." Taking a deep breath, she moved forward, loading a platter full of steaming vegetables, hunks of meat, and a single small loaf of bread. She did not want to push her luck, not after Bull's warning back in Haven about bread and milk.

Cassandra merely poured herself a glass of wine, going to sit on a divan by the window.

"What do you think?" Zanneth asked, tearing in to her food. They hadn't yet ordered food back at the inn, then the fight broke out. She had not eaten since a small pittance that morning, and she was famished.

Cassandra shrugged. "I think it is a very good deal. I know no more than you about Lady Vivienne – she plays her cards close to her chest and she always has – but I think the offer is genuine."

"But _shem_ always want something," Zanneth mused, narrowing her eyes in thought as she chewed.

"That is what you call us. _Shem, shemlen_. What does it mean? It sounds like an insult."

Zanneth's eyes met Cassandra's, her heart dropping into her stomach, warmth flooding her face. "I…" She sighed. Curiously, Cassandra did not look angry, however. Taking a deep breath, the elf tried to explain. "It means 'quick children'. It is what we call humans. It is not inherently negative, but given our experience with humans over millennia…"

Cassandra nodded, taking another sip of wine. She struck quite a figure, sitting in armor, armed to the teeth, and sipping delicately at a glass of wine. "It has developed a negative connotation due to your mistreatment by the various nations of men. I can see this. But tell me. Do you think of _me_ as one of these?"

"No!" Zanneth exclaimed, incredulous.

"But I am human, am I not? What makes me different from those you insult with this word?"

"You are not as they are! You have been _good_ to me! You do not hate me for the fact that I am an elf."

Cassandra merely nodded again. "But tell me. Has anyone mistreated you for being an elf? Back in Haven, that is. Not here. I know the clerics had words regarding that."

Zanneth thought back. "No… After I awoke the second time… I have received nothing but kindness from your people."

"_Our_ people, Zanneth. They are _our_ people. We _all_ serve the same cause: to close the Breach, and to find the one who caused it. You serve this cause, I serve it, and Sera, the one you call 'flat-ear', serves it as well – all out of our sense of duty to the people of Thedas. _All_ her people: elves, humans, dwarves, and even qunari. We work to save them all. I will work to ensure no one calls you 'knife-ear' or worse. But that effort is undermined when we insult others. Especially _you_, as Andraste's Herald. Whether or not that is true, others look to you for guidance. You are our figurehead, whether or not you chose it. As the one that can close the rifts… you represent the Inquisition as a whole. In public, at least, I ask that you act as though you do not see the race of those around you. You may think whatever you wish privately, but appearance, as loathe as I am to say this… is everything."

Coming from anyone else, that lecture would have made Zanneth incredibly angry. But Cassandra had proven herself different from the elf's conception of humans. She was warm and safe, solid and strong, and had become Zanneth's one anchor in a chaotic world in a very short amount of time. If she could not heed this woman's advice… then who could she listen to? She could not continue to keep her own counsel. That would merely end in hopelessness once more.

"I… shall endeavor to keep an open mind," Zanneth finally allowed.

Cassandra smiled. "That is all I ask. And I apologize. You were not asking me for a lecture. You were asking me for my thoughts on Lady Vivienne's proposal. And to _answer_ your question… you are likely right. Lady Vivienne probably wants something in return, but it is not clear what. She offers much. She is ambitious. As much as she talks of ambition only taking her so far… I think it is her angle in this. I think she will be on the lookout for how she can turn the Inquisition to her advantage."

Zanneth nodded. "So we refuse?"

"No. I say we turn her to our advantage first. She has a great many contacts with a _lot_ of coin. We need that, both the coin and the standing of all that noble support. Let us mutually use each other. Using us does not mean she wishes us ill. It simply means _she_ is at the forefront of _her_ mind."

Zanneth shook her head. "This world is so alien to me. The Dalish… we do not put selfish wants above the good of the People."

"It is a noble idea. Unfortunately, it breaks down the more people you have gathered. I am glad it works in your clan. We can try as hard as we may to mirror it in the Inquisition. But gather enough people together… and you _will_ get the selfish ones who wish to exploit those around them. It is in the nature of _all_ people, given enough anonymity, I have found."

"Perhaps that is the key," Zanneth mused. "Anonymity does not exist in a Dalish clan. But I can see how it exists, even in a place as small as Haven."

Cassandra chuckled.

"What?" the elf asked.

"I find it funny that, so quickly, you call Haven 'small,' when before yesterday, it was the biggest village you had yet seen. Discounting Jader off in the distance, I suppose."

Zanneth's face flushed. Instead of responding, she merely took another bite of her abandoned meal. She would call for Lady Vivienne when she had finished eating.

* * *

Leliana watched as a face she had not expected to ever see clarified in the distance.

"Ser Cauthrien?" she whispered, incredulous.

"Do you see someone you know?" Josephine queried, standing with the spymaster at the gate to the village to welcome the recruits King Alistair had rounded up for the Inquisition. Filou crawled over her shoulders, occasionally batting at the curled locks of hair that framed the ambassador's face.

Leliana shook her head. "Ser Cauthrien. A former loyal of Loghain's. She… defected, I suppose. Saw the man for the madness that had overcome him and became loyal to the king in the end. Her loyalty was hard-won—she had a lot to prove—but she has managed it. But now she is here…I wonder why."

"The king's reply did say we would receive some familiar faces," Josephine ventured. "Perhaps hers is what he meant?"

Leliana shook her head again. "I suppose. It would be like him to treat it so lightly, like a joke. He and Solona are truly brother and sister in that way."

"They were wardens together, were they not?"

Leliana smiled. "Yes. The last two in Ferelden during the Blight. Solona recruited more after, but Ferelden's Grey Wardens have always been few in number. Right now I do not believe they number more than two dozen. It is how they prefer it. Quality over quantity. They make up for it by leaning heavily on their reputation after the Blight, and the treaties compelling others to aid them in time of need."

"And why did she leave the Order, again?"

Leliana pursed her lips, looking back out over the frozen lake to those approaching. The she spoke of was… bloody. Yet more blood on the Left Hand. "Weisshaupt did not approve of her decisions during the conflict at Amaranthine. They took umbrage to her survival after the Blight, as well, I think. They condemned her and her decisions, branded her particular form of magic as coming from demons, as blood magic does, and sent forces to oust her. Rather than be the cause of more bloodshed, she placed Ser Oghren in charge and we… left."

That was not all true. Leliana had slaughtered those who had come to take Solona into custody. But she felt no need to say this to Josephine.

She looked back down to see the ambassador's gasp. "That is horrible! She is a hero! And they ousted her by force?"

"Weisshaupt has long been secluded. It is far from Ferelden, its rules harkening back to the ancient times before the Chantry. Mages are feared. Solona had recruited more than the single mage allowed per branch of the Order, and coupled with that… they feared her, I think. But it is all right. She did her duty to the Order. We stayed with King Alistair until Divine Justinia summoned me. You… know the rest, I suppose."

Josephine nodded. "It is… regrettable she will miss tomorrow."

"Maker, don't remind me. She is missing so much," Leliana murmured, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "I try not to be angry. But… I am _angry_, Josie. Yet I long for her. It is a strange set of emotions to experience at once."

"But if you did not long for her, if you did not love her... would it anger you that she is not here?" the ambassador asked.

Leliana blinked a few times, considering her friend's words. "I… suppose it would not."

Josephine smiled. "Then perhaps try to remember that when you do not wish to be angry? It is based in love, all of it. And that… is not such a terrible thing."

Leliana smirked. "Such wisdom, from someone so young!" she exclaimed. "You constantly prove that I chose correctly in our ambassador, Josie!"

"Then why was that silly test required?" Josephine asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I needed irrefutable proof, my dear Josie. And you provided it so beautifully."

Josephine hmphed. "You could have simply _asked_. Leading me in a wild chase to provide recompense for an overcharge you _engineered_…" She shook her head. "I am grateful we are together again, however. Even if it is in a place with so much _mud_."

An image flashed before Leliana's eyes, of when she first met Josie, at the small Chantry in Valence. "To think of how we met… And now we are to celebrate a wedding!" Leliana proclaimed, looking past Josie to where Revka stood next to Cullen, her arm in the crook of the elbow of his severed arm. It spoke of just how comfortable he was with her, that he would let her touch the physical sign of his weakness and still be perfectly at-ease, even among his troops. Despite Leliana's first impression of the man all those years ago at the Ferelden Circle, he was clearly a competent, well-rounded, strong individual _now_.

"Yes," Josephine agreed, nodding and smiling. "I am truly happy for them. And I imagine children will follow soon?"

"You think?" Leliana said with a raised brow.

"I am not an idiot, Leliana. Children almost always follow on the heels of a hurried wedding."

Leliana hummed, noncommittal. She would not give away Revka's secret. Her growing belly would give that away soon without the spymaster's flapping lips.

"Fine. Keep your secrets. Time will tell if I am right," Josephine said, smiling and shaking her head. "For now, we should greet the new troops."

Leliana shook her head. "I am afraid I cannot."

"But… your friend?"

Leliana reached out, allowing Filou to jump into her waiting hands and crawl up to her shoulder. "I will seek her out later, when we will have privacy. There are simply too many people right now."

Josephine frowned slightly. "If you say so…"

Leliana turned, heading back into the village, Max and Bella joining her without instruction.

It was several hours before she left her "office" - an open-air tent in the courtyard outside the Chantry. King Alistair and Queen Elissa had sent more than a thousand people, though they had not all arrived that day. They were volunteers, and because it was Alistair who sent them, Leliana could be assured that they had not been pressed into the Inquisition's service. From the reports they had brought with them, some were simple villagers, some were farmers or servants, and more than half were soldiers or squires from the king's own service. Not all would serve their armed forces, but that was actually a good thing. With the Inquisition's numbers expanding the way they were, they would need new servants, workmen, cooks and other laborers _as well as_ soldiers. A house without a foundation fell quickly. Alistair, bless the man, had known that and recruited from every social stratum.

Honestly, the only thing that gave Leliana pause were the nobles' younger sons and daughters who would be trickling in, trying to make a name for themselves with the Inquisition. Leliana did not have the time for baby-noble hand-holding. They had to close the Breach. But she just _knew_ someone would come in, see that hardly any of the leaders here were of noble birth, and try to press their own authority. As if the Inquisition were a nation that put any stock in their noble births. Perhaps Max and Bella would have a second duty, in addition to acting as the spymaster's ears… namely, taking down a minor noble's child a peg or two.

Leliana went walking through Haven, stretching her legs after so many hours bending over her makeshift desk of crates. Max and Bella walked with her, Filou riding this one out upon Bella's shoulders. The kitten was growing, constantly bothering Leliana or the dogs for play, getting bolder in his wanderings. But always if he was scared - which was often, as he was still a baby - he came scampering back to Leliana and curled up in the pocket of her cloak. At night, he slept curled up with one of the dogs or went wandering the Chantry teaching himself how to hunt the rodents which plagued the larder. Hopefully he would soon make himself useful in that regard. Their few mages who had taken refuge with the Inquisition – a fair number of them with facial branding similar to Solona's - were not too keen on being asked to take care of pests.

Yet one more thing Solona would laugh about before shouting them into service.

The camp was crazed with the arrival of so many at once. Tents were being pitched wherever there was room. Latrine ditches were being dug in the frozen ground, away from the village proper. Cookfires abounded, and their existing servants and laborers were hard-pressed to keep up. Those who had arrived were already being folded in to the schedule, the routine, so as to keep up with the suddenly gargantuan amount of work that needed to be done. The soldiers and recruits, too, pitched in to accommodate the newcomers.

Josephine and Revka would need to act swiftly in order to assure they could feed and outfit this now-thriving village properly. Leliana had no doubt they could manage.

Off in the distance, Leliana could see a tall, stocky outline bearing a two-handed greatsword upon its back: Ser Cauthrien. Smiling, she spoke quietly to Max. "You see Ser Cauthrien, Max? Go fetch her, boy."

He chuffed and trotted forward. The years had slowed him down, whitening his muzzle and making fighting as a war hound no longer possible. But his mind was still every bit as sharp as it had ever been. He was happy to lie around and observe, and to paw at Filou when the kitten wanted to play. And he was happy to do these kinds of chores for Leliana when she needed. He lived to serve his master, and Leliana had long ago been one with Solona as far as that particular role was concerned.

Leliana watched Max come to a halt and lift his head, his mouth opening in what she assumed was a chuff. The broad-shouldered woman in the distance cocked her head at Max, and then both were looking over at Leliana. The spymaster inclined her head in invitation. The figure in the distance dismissed herself from those she was speaking with before following the mabari back to Leliana.

"Lady Leliana?"

Leliana let the corners of her lips turn up at the corner. "Ser Cauthrien," she greeted, holding out her hand.

The knight took it, shaking enthusiastically. "I knew you were with the Inquisition, but I had no idea you were actually _here_," she said. Her face was a bit rougher than Leliana remembered from her time guesting with the king. Her skin was marked by small lines, from the sun and from age. Her long brown hair carried signs of age with a single grey streak at one temple, twisting through its utilitarian braid in an altogether attractive manner. Cauthrien couldn't have been much older than Leliana herself? Surely no older than Cassandra, who did not yet bear grey in her hair at forty. "Is your paramour here, as well?" Cauthrien asked, briefly looking around.

Leliana shook her head, extending her now-free hand to indicate Cauthrien should walk with her. "Solona is… missing.," she said simply. She did not wish to get into it at the moment.

Cauthrien looked appropriately remorseful. "I am truly sorry to hear that."

Leliana nodded before changing the subject. "How fare the king and queen?"

"They are well. The queen is with child."

"Again?! This will be their sixth, will it not?!" Leliana exclaimed.

Cauthrien smiled, shaking her head. "Yes, it will. We are lucky to have rulers who are so fond of each other, truly."

Leliana smirked. "Indeed. Imagine; six children before thirty…"

"If life had gone more normally for either of us, I imagine we would know what that is like," the knight pointed out.

"True." Leliana walked quietly for a time. Cauthrien had always been a woman of few words. Leliana had grown into a woman of few words with her deafness. It was a comfortable silence for them both.

Finally Cauthrien slowed, getting Leliana's attention. "I was so frightened when that hole appeared in the sky." Leliana could see the ethereal green light reflected in the warrior's eyes as she stared up toward the Breach. "Nobody knew what had happened. The king nearly led an army here to see what was amiss - he knew it hovered over the Temple, knew it was something to do with the Divine's Conclave. Myself and Master Zevran managed to dissuade him, and a few days later, your message arrived. It was… good to hear you had survived. But Leliana. I know you were utterly devoted to our late Divine. You knew her personally. I cannot say I feel a great loss at her passing, but _you_, and with your paramour missing…" The knight took a deep breath, downturned eyes looking down into Leliana's. "I am sorry for all you have suffered."

Leliana smiled, one of the few genuine ones she had expressed since the Conclave. "Thank you, Cauthrien. I am not alone here, though. I have friends, and Solona's sister, Revka. She will be marrying on the morrow, actually. It will be good to have a reason to celebrate."

Cauthrien smirked. While they had not been close, Cauthrien and Revka had known each other in Alistair's court. "Yes, I have already heard the tale. It sounds as though they are quite fond of each other, though. That is good. After all that has happened… it is good to see two people come together in joy."

Leliana nodded. She agreed, wholeheartedly. It was just… difficult to muster enough enthusiasm. The source of her own joy was gone, had been gone nearly two years and incommunicado for _months_. _We should be celebrating this together, dammit. You are missing __**everything**__, Solona!_ But she could not fall into that. She would never pull herself back out if she allowed it to swallow her. So instead she changed the subject. "You are the highest-ranking military mind coming to us from Ferelden. Have you met our commander yet?"

"Yes, I have," Cauthrien answered, allowing the change of subject without so much as a raised eyebrow in curiosity. "Though I do not think my knighthood impresses him."

Leliana shook her head. "Yes, I am afraid we already spoke of how we worried for the lesser nobility who might show up and expect to have some kind of authority here merely because of their birthright."

Cauthrien nodded. "Yes, I figured it might be something like that. I shall endeavor to _not_ be a spoiled little shit, and hope that it is enough to convince him of my abilities," she finished with a smirk.

Leliana chuckled. "Honestly, Cauthrien, with so many raw recruits, I expect it will be clear to him very quickly who he can rely on and who he cannot. Just be yourself, and thrash anyone who steps out of line. Though one word of caution… do not assume he cannot handle someone who might challenge him simply because he only has one arm. Even one-handed, there is only one person he consistently cannot beat, that I have seen."

"I would not deign to assume such things," Cauthrien assured her. "He would not be placed in command here were he not capable. But… since you mention it, who is the one person?"

Leliana's smirk turned wry. "Cassandra Pentaghast, Hero of Orlais, Right Hand of two Divines, and the woman who declared this Inquisition."

Cauthrien's lips pucked in what Leliana could only assume was a low whistle. "That is one hell of a final challenge. I would _love_ to meet her, try my own hand."

Leliana turned to keep walking. "I imagine in several weeks you can. Though for the moment, she is in Val Royeaux with the Herald, seeing to business for the Inquisition."

"That is right! I almost forgot about this alleged Herald of Andraste. Tell me of her?"

"I am afraid I do not know much about her personally. But I can tell you what has happened here so far…"

* * *

Josephine watched with a smile on her face as Cullen and Revka bowed out of their own festivities early. No doubt they had more pressing business as newly-wed husband and wife, alone in their cabin. They were adorable, giddy and smiling throughout the entire ceremony and barely touching their food at the celebration after. As they hurried off, Josephine was sure that if Revka was not yet pregnant, she would be very, very soon.

The thought widened her smile. The Inquisition's leaders could do with more sources of joy. And new life, lovingly created, was the very epitome of joy.

The area outside the Chantry had been transformed into an outdoor theatre of celebration. There were tables laden with food and drink, music played by a minstrel who happened to have been in Haven for the Conclave, dancing, and general revelry. And it was not confined to this area, either. Indeed, it seemed the entire village of Haven was half-drunk, singing and joyous shouting lifting from all quarters, seen and unseen. Clearly, the people needed any excuse to celebrate, to laugh. Watching their commander and ambassador, whom most of them had only just met the day before, get married seemed a good enough excuse for most.

Josephine, of course, was personally very happy to see the two wedded. They had been about this dance for months, and she, Cassandra, and Leliana could see the writing on the wall from the start. It had only been a matter of time. Two weeks after informing Josephine and Leliana of their plans, Revka and Cullen were now wed. And very clearly _happy_.

It did make the ambassador feel a little lonely, however. It had been long since she had shared any intimacy with anyone. Coy flirting at court was of course the norm, but unlike most of her countrymen, Josephine was not passionate and extroverted, preferring a good book alone by the fire to going out and getting drunk and embarrassing herself. Or perhaps that was her noble upbringing? She did enjoy the parties of the Orlesian court. It was only since arriving in Haven that Josephine had felt truly out of place. She simply did not know how to fit among the people who looked to her to secure their coin, food, and equipment.

It was easy for Revka, who was born common and raised to her position. She also had a rather extraordinary family, between the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall. Revka knew how to mix with anyone. Josephine did not. She could not make herself go out and mix with the general population. She took her meals privately and stuck to her friends in Leliana and Revka.

It was quite a juxtaposition. One boiling hot, ecstatic about her marriage, the other ice cold due to grief and the rigors of her position.

It did not help that Josephine herself did not quite know where she stood just yet. The Inquisition was not a nation, so her nobility might mean little. The Divine had seen little value in traditional rank. Her Right Hand was a princess who cared little for her title, her Left Hand a commoner without a family name - as was the convention in Leliana's birth nation of Ferelden. Josephine had been chosen as the Inquisition's ambassador for her skill and "painful integrity," as Leliana had put it. Her noble status mattered not to the Divine, whose greatest objective had been change. But Josephine's noble birth and upbringing had given her the tools she used so well as a diplomat.

So, still, Josephine did not know where she stood. She could only take comfort in the intimacy of friendship for the moment. It would not do to dally in anything more than that with the villagers or common soldiers. She outranked them, and that would be a gross overreach of her influence. Even if she did not force the issue in truth, it would _look_ very bad.

_Surely you are getting ahead of yourself, Josephine_, she lectured herself. _You think of a possible lover, but you have yet to have a meaningful conversation with anyone who is not in some manner of leadership position. Do you really think yourself so much better than those non-noble? So distant from them? You are a noble in name only. Another year like the last few, and your family will be forced to sell the estate and take up trades in town. And then no one will care who you become intimate with._

Josephine sighed. It might be a relief, to just let them fall and be done with it. Then at least she would not have to try so hard to hold the thinning threads of her family name together. But as tempting as it was, she could not do so. Not yet. She had something up her sleeve. She just needed the name of the Inquisition to grow a little more, for the chaos to settle a little more, and she would be able to reach out to her contacts and reestablish trade in Orlais. Trade in Orlais would reestablish her family's reputation, their wealth, and allow them, over time, to recoup their lost lands and holdings.

She could not give up just yet. She could not do that to her family.

"Surely a frown such as that has no place at such a joyous celebration?"

Josephine started, turning her head sharply to find one of the soldiers who had arrived from King Alistair's ranks standing only a few feet away. Something was familiar about her. The woman was taller than Josephine, though that was easy enough to accomplish, as Josephine was only slightly taller than Leliana. She already wore a tabard of the Inquisition over a leather jerkin, wool trousers tucked into calf-high boots. She had the bearing of a warrior-born, carrying herself with the easy confidence Josephine associated with Cassandra. Her shoulders were broad, her clothes not hiding the bulk that likely came from wielding the monstrous sword on strapped to her back. Her skin was pale, and her plaited hair likely brunette, though all that was truly visible of the color in the firelight was the streak of grey woven into it, originating at her temple.

Josephine could not remember _who _this delicious-looking creature was, but she intended to find out.

_What were you saying about not becoming intimate with the common rabble?_

"Perhaps there is no place for it here," Josephine began, smiling slightly. "But I am afraid my mind was very far from here."

The soldier nodded, selecting her drink - surprisingly, a glass of wine - and moving away from the table. Her steps took her to Josephine's side, though a respectable distance away, and then the woman turned, gazing out upon the raucous dancing and flirting and general revelry of the square. "Alas, our minds often do that to us. We see someone else's joy, and it reminds us of our lack. Our loneliness. How we miss our families or how we don't yet know anyone in our new assignment."

It hit rather close to home for Josephine. But she did not wear her thoughts on her sleeve. Likely the warrior had said such things because she herself was feeling them, and not because she could see Josephine could feel that way. "And do you miss home? You speak of new assignments…"

The warrior woman smiled, more a grimace, and nodded. "I do not mean to suggest I am here against my will; I volunteered to come here. But I was in Denerim a long time. I already miss the camaraderie of having known the men and women I served and served with for years."

"Did not many of those participating in this revelry serve with you under the king?"

"They did, yes. But I enjoyed a… _unique_ position among the king's guard."

Josephine nodded in understanding. And was quietly _thrilled_. "You are a knight, then?"

The woman smiled. "Aye, I am." Her features abruptly rearranged, communicating her dismay. "Forgive me! The wine seems to have left me bereft of my manners!" She held out her hand. "I am Ser Aisling Cauthrien, knight in the court of King Alistair and Queen Elissa Theirin of Ferelden."

Josephine took her hand, smiling. _Yes. Yes, this is good. This is the knight Leliana pointed out earlier. Now I recognize her. _She considered the woman before her for a moment, admiring the line of her silhouette against the firelight. _A knight is minor nobility. Perfectly acceptable._ "I am Lady Josephine Montilyet, formerly Antiva's ambassador to the Orlesian Imperial Court and current ambassador for the Inquisition."

Ser Cauthrien smiled, releasing Josephine's hand. "A pleasure. And now we can never use our full titles again, yes?"

Josephine laughed. "It is more than a mouthful, isn't it?"

The knight's laughter joined hers.

"So, Ser Cauthrien," Josephine said, using the woman's formal address – they were not yet so familiar as to use their given names. "You were knighted by the king? Is there some tale of your deeds I might hear?"

Ser Cauthrien smiled ruefully. "It will be a grander tale if you hear it from someone else's lips, my lady."

_Ah, so skilled at this formality_, Josephine thought, pleased. _I do wonder what she thinks of me. It was her who struck up the conversation. But perhaps she is merely being friendly? Flattering her should give some clue…_

"Please, Ser Cauthrien," Josephine pleaded, batting her eyelashes for good measure. "I am sure a beautiful, dignified warrior such as yourself tells it best." The ambassador truly did appreciate the single streak of grey at the knight's temple. Dignified was exactly the word to use.

Cauthrien's face flushed in the low light, from the moon and torches and bonfires alike. "You flatter me, my lady." Josephine silently did a dance of victory. "But I cannot refuse such a simple request from a fine lady such as yourself. If you would be kind enough to accompany me on a stroll through the village?" Cauthrien added, holding her arm out.

Josephine took the offered arm, her own face flushing. She had never gained the attention of a knight before, not in her current position. She gained the attention and favor of many as a bard, but she was not being herself then. This small thing meant so much more than all those sordid affairs combined. "I would be delighted for the company. _And_ the story," she added pointedly.

Cauthrien smiled. "It was a plot by the former queen, Anora Theirin. The young royal prince and princess were kidnapped, and I… well, in the end I rescued them."

Josephine was astonished. "That was _you_?!"

Cauthrien nodded as she walked. "Yes."

"Well now I _must_ hear the full tale!"

The knight shook her head, indulging Josephine with a modest smile. "Very well. It was while the queen was carrying the third of the royal children…"

Josephine settled in for the story, happy to have the warm, solid presence at her side. Nothing would happen this night. She was not playing at bard any longer, was not here to perform a seduction. Perhaps nothing would ever happen. But just having someone to speak with, after so long isolated with only her two friends for company, would more than suffice this night.

* * *

The Herald's party stayed with Lady Vivienne for a little over two weeks. For Cassandra, the waiting chafed, but there was nothing to be done for it. The First Enchanter had preparations to make, staff to bundle up and send to the de Ghyslain estate proper, messages to send, people to bid farewell to in the city itself, and magic to weave. Cassandra did not know what spells Vivienne felt compelled to cast in preparation, and she did not ask. Magic users were her domain to oversee in terms of keeping the world abomination-free. Short of that, Vivienne could bewitch a handbag to store her entire library all she liked.

For the others, the time seemed welcome. Bull made immediately for every tavern in town. He was not welcome to bed down there, but he could spend his coin on ale and cards all he liked. _His_ coin, not Inquisition coin. Varric did much the same, though Cassandra had stumbled upon him at a writing desk, with quill to page, more than once in the common room connected to all their bedchambers. Sera would disappear at all manner of strange hours, presumably on Red Jenny business. Solas spent all his time in Vivienne's extensive library, occasionally speaking with the woman herself of arcane subjects.

Zanneth spent much of her time alone. She was gaining weight rapidly, which made Cassandra very happy, though she worried over all the brooding the elf was doing. She offered once to take Zanneth out into the woods surrounding the estate for a hunt, but the elf had said she was tired, then continued staring out the window. Following her gaze told Cassandra it was the Breach and Haven that had her attention. What thoughts troubled her? Her dead brother? Her slain husband? The poor woman...

After those two weeks, they were finally ready to leave. The ship took longer in this direction, for which Cassandra apologized profusely to the poor seasick-prone elf, but Vivienne had a potion for the girl to try, and it worked. Zanneth still did not eat much of the food available to them on the ship, but she also did not heave down anything she tried ingesting. Now they were finally on land. Reclaiming their horses and escort of soldiers outside Jader, Zanneth's horse now going to Vivienne while Sera doubled up with Bull on his massive horse, they set off immediately. Cassandra was eager to get back. She had sent news on to Leliana, of course, but there was only so much one could say and trust to a courier or pigeon. She should have taken one of Leliana's specially-trained falcons. Confidential messages could be trusted to those animals.

Having Zanneth so close, quite literally _in_ Cassandra's arms, was playing with her sense of decorum. Having seen the woman naked and gained some fondness for her, she now noticed details she missed the first time. For instance, in addition to leather and oil, the girl smelled of woodsmoke and pine needles, even though she had not been in the forest for many weeks. Her hair was lengthening, nearly of enough length to cut for style now, and so bright in the sunlight that one could barely stand to look upon it. Zanneth's shape was filling out, her lean muscles visible bunching through the light linen she wore under her leather jerkin and tabard when she moved. The elf was a ball of heat sitting between Cassandra's legs, and she had taken the nasty habit of leaning into Cassandra, allowing a physical familiarity that surprised the Seeker, given her initial reservations around humans.

_You are attracted to the Herald._ The nagging voice in her head took on Leliana's lilting croon.

_Nonsense_, she argued, furrowing her brow even though her argument was internal. _ I am not attracted to women._

_Yes, you are. To __**this**__ woman, at the very least._

_What is there even to be attracted to? She is small. She is not as strong as me. She is an __**elf**__, for Andraste's sake!_

_And yet the way those tattoos frame her creamy skin… you could not keep your eyes from it. You sought it out as you shared a room, nonchalantly trying to __**peep**__ as she changed her clothes or bathed. You cannot lie to yourself, Seeker. __**You**__ were the first person you learned to seek the truth within. You like her heat, you like her body against yours, and you like that you have shared quarters and a bed these many weeks._

_It is pleasant to have her trust me so..._

"Didn't you say you were going to teach me how to steer this beast on my own?" Zanneth's voice interrupted Cassandra's internal argument.

Forcibly calming her suddenly _racing_ heart, Cassandra nodded. "That is true, I was. I forgot. I apologize. Would you like to be shown a few things now?"

The elf nodded, her bright-white hair bobbing at the bottom of Cassandra's vision. She placed her hands in the Seeker's once more, just as she had that first day riding, and Cassandra felt ridiculously like she had the Dalish hunter's heart in her hands. _This is laughable. I am not attracted to her._

_You can say it as often as you like, Seeker Pentaghast. That does not make it true._

_I was not looking at her body. Her tattoos are exotic. Anyone would look._

_Why are you trying so hard to convince yourself, Seeker? What is so wrong with attraction? Is it that she is a woman? An elf? Is it that she does not believe? Is it that she could actually be sent by Andraste, as a non-believer?_

_Pick one. Any will do._

_You have been with one person in all your life, Cassandra_. The cadence of Leliana's voice in her head became teasing. _And you did not find him attractive at the start, either. How do you know you cannot be attracted to her because she is a woman? You never experience attraction at first glance, and you do not grow close enough to anyone to experience it after closeness is achieved._

_Fine. But the other reasons remain valid._

_Are they valid? Or are they simply convenient?_

"Cassandra?"

The Seeker shook her head. willfully putting aside her nagging thoughts. "Sorry. Yes. You hold the reins like this. Make sure never to pull back too hard, as it will simply saw at the horse's mouth. No one wants that outside of a true emergency - it irritates the horse, and if you are not skilled, he will be much more likely to throw you."

"Throw me?"

"Yes. The animal can rear back onto two legs and buck his body to throw you from him. A skilled horseman can keep his seat and bring the animal under control, of course, but it takes many years and much practice to reach that skill. _You_ are no such skilled horseman."

Zanneth nodded. "Okay. So you pull back slightly to slow or stop. How do you get the animal moving? Increase his speed?"

"A simple flick of the reins and possibly a click of your tongue will make him move from a standstill. If he will not - perhaps you have an ill-trained animal or he thinks he can get away with not listening - you can dig your heels into his sides. Though be careful, especially if you have riding boots on, as this will make him _run_ from the get-go. Inexperienced riders kick too hard and are thrown from the sudden speed."

Zanneth nodded again. "Okay. I think… I think that is enough information for now."

"Try it," Cassandra suggested. "You can decrease and increase his speed. Just try not to get over-enthusiastic." The Seeker wrapped her arms around the elf, ignoring the way her heartbeat sped up at the closeness of the non-embrace. "I will grip you and the saddle horn in case you send him careening off into the distance. I will not be thrown, and I will keep you in your seat."

Taking a shaky breath, Zanneth gave the reins a far too exuberant flick, and, predictably, the horse responded by _jumping_ into a gallop. Zanneth let out a yelp, pushing into Cassandra's embrace, which reflexively tightened around her, keeping her from falling.

Bull's voice suddenly rang out over the landscape. "Lookout! You're headed right for it!"

Cassandra looked up, her heart falling down into her belly as she took in the scene ahead: a rift was open, demons and inhabited dead bodies prowling the winding mountain path, readying themselves for the approaching party.

Zanneth's left hand flared to life in her lap, the elf crying out in pain. Cassandra could feel the heat burn her own hand as she scrabbled for the reins. They were headed for it.

They were headed right for a demon-swarmed Fade-rift.

_Maker preserve us. We are not prepared._

* * *

_A/N: Aaaaaand a cliffhanger. Sorry! ~ducks~_


	14. No Rest For The Weary

_A/N: So... nothing all week, and then my muse decides yesterday morning that I should churn this out in 24 hours. And I've already started the next one, too. Beta'd lightning-fast by the lovely Raven Sinead, who is finally starting her own continuation fic, Sick World That Damns its Saviors, if you're interested. I, for one, am mega-excited that she's started._

_Also. Fair warning. There is a fair bit of action in this one, and you're not gonna like me for all of it._

* * *

_Chapter 14: No Rest For The Weary_

Zanneth's whole world was blinded by a burning, searing pain. At the same time, her vision was filled with a bright, green light. She cried out, but the pain didn't last long, subsiding into a great throb that was at least manageable.

Looking up, however, had her level with the malevolent gaze of sightless eyes. "Zanneth, hold on!" Cassandra's voice shouted above her, and she realized that the hand around her waist was pulling her so close to the Seeker that Zanneth could feel the detail of the warrior's belt buckle pressed into the small of her back.

A realization hit her as the horse finally changed direction. _No one wore anything harder than leather armor this time_. Her stomach sank. What was going to happen? Zanneth still did not have much experience in battle.

The horse veered away from the rift, but the demons and shambling corpses gave chase. As their mount gained speed, Zanneth hoped they could outrun the beasts, but a quick glance around Cassandra told her that they could not. Another glimpse at her companions showed that they had already dismounted and were engaging the enemy. Some of those chasing the Herald broke off, moving back toward the rift and those attacking them.

Zanneth's hand burned, sizzling alive once more, responding to the pulsating rift in the air. Her eyes fell on her hand, only to find that the supple leather glove she had been wearing had a singed hole through the palm, the edges smoldering. Before her very eyes it began to disintegrate.

"Cassandra!" she called, holding her hand out in front of her to show that her glove had all but burned away.

"We must get close enough for you to close the rift!" Cassandra shouted, chancing a glance behind them. The rift was already a quarter mile off. Zanneth was pressed so close to the Seeker that she could feel her directing the horse's movements with her feet in the stirrups. The horse veered, swinging wide enough to maintain its speed. Unfortunately, the demons were not entirely without cunning, and they moved to cut the circuit short.

"Cass!" the elf yelled, panic making her voice crack like an adolescent boy's.

"I see," was all the Seeker said, not needing to yell to be heard over the din of the horse's hooves and Zanneth's own heartbeat thundering in her ears. The elf's ears picked up the tell-tale sound of steel over leather, just as she felt Cassandra shift. Then the warrior was holding a sword in her right hand, presumably pulled from the sheath on her back. Her left arm was still wrapped securely around Zanneth, the Seeker protecting the elf with her whole body.

An animated corpse, sprinting now instead of shambling, was suddenly upon them. Just as a skeletal hand, rotting skin falling away in sheets, reached Zanneth's leg, Cassandra's sword lashed out, relieving the monster of its arm. A kick of the her feet, and the horse picked up speed, straightening out and heading directly for the rift.

"We do not have time to stop," Cassandra said, her mouth pressed firmly above Zanneth's right ear. "We must both jump, and hope the horse comes back after the battle. I will protect you while you close the rift."

Zanneth nodded frantically. Her bow was not on her back, as it would only get in the way of riding double. It was also not strung, so grabbing it from the pack horse would do no good. She would be utterly defenseless. And yet she was the only one who could stop this madness. She would have to rely on the others to protect her while she worked to save _them_.

Bull swung his mighty maul, decapitating another walking corpse. Vivienne froze one solid, hurtling a stone the size of her head toward another shuffling her way. Varric and Sera stood back-to-back, picking off more distant targets while the Inquisition soldiers formed a loose ring around them to protect the archers from those enemies that had closed upon them. Zanneth took it all in with barely a glance, her attention recalled almost immediately as Cassandra squeezed her middle even more tightly in preparation for their jump.

Time seemed to slow, then stop. Zanneth's eyes fixed on the rift hovering in the air. It was sick and beautiful, utterly captivating. It sang a song the Dalish elf could not quite hear. It called to her, taunting her, daring her to harm it, to raise her hand and end it, cut off the energies that sustained the madness around her. Its light bathed them, casting shadows, filling her with anticipated excitement and dread. Her hand seared, sending pain slicing up her arm and into her chest like knives.

Then time sped back up, and Cassandra was jumping from the horse, sailing through the air, finally releasing Zanneth so they could both land safely. The elf tucked her shoulder, letting out a yelp when she hit the ground, but otherwise rolling safely to her feet. She did not stop to assess herself or the battleground. The rift was close. It sang to her. She ran for it, already raising her left hand, feeling the power pulse and ripple through her, ready to connect with the rift-

"Ah!" she yelped, falling to the ground as pain sliced through her right shoulder. She rolled backwards, her sensitive hearing alerting her that something was coming through the air straight for her. When she finally looked up, she saw a terrifying creature of molten fire bearing down on her, a high-pitched shriek emanating from it. She was going to die. This was going to be it. She stood no hope of finding her feet and running fast enough.

A blade sliced through the monster where its throat should have been. It hissed and wailed, shrinking into the ground like something melting. Behind it stood Cassandra, both swords in her hands, one glowing red from slicing through the demon. She merely nodded, turning and standing guard over Zanneth.

The elf's heart kicked into her throat at the sight, but she had no time to savor her relief. Pushing herself to her feet, she dodged around the warrior, lifting her hand to the rift. The remembered sensation of warmth overtook the pain radiating up her arm, and the green light burst forth from her palm once more. She watched in rapt fascination as the light from her palm and the energies of the rift enfolded each other, embracing like long-absent friends. Then she was rocked back to the ground, the rift exploding outward like the others she had closed, a shockwave traveling outward, flattening all on the field of battle.

Only Zanneth's companions found their feet again; the monstrosities that drew their energy from the rift were no longer sustained without their link to the Fade. The Dalish elf lay on her back as the warm, soft green light bathed her. Her arm no longer hurt, and in fact she felt good and right in a way she hadn't felt since closing the last rift.

Except for the bleeding, burning wound on her right shoulder.

"Come," she heard Solas's voice, and she looked over to see him pushing himself from Cassandra's side, not far away. His eyes were on the Seeker as he spoke. "Your arm is broken. I will need to set it before mending it."

Zanneth looked around to see that nobody had gotten out of the scuffle without injury. But they were all alive, even the Inquisition soldiers, and nobody looked in danger of death. They had made it.

A cheer went up, and the soldiers, Varric and Sera among them, were suddenly upon Zanneth. The elf squawked as she was lifted bodily from the ground, and then she found herself supported on two sets of broad shoulders, being paraded around the battlefield. As shouts surrounded her, of triumph and faith and joy, she caught Cassandra's eyes from afar. The Seeker was smiling.

Zanneth could not help but to mirror it. They had done it. The Inquisition had survived through its first skirmish. It was small, but it was real, and their soldiers now had definitive proof that they were helping to do good and effect real change.

All Zanneth seemed to be able to care about at the moment, however, was how well Cassandra's smile suited her otherwise sharp, refined features.

* * *

Cauthrien was serving watch on the scaffolding. Commander Cullen still did not seem to trust her or her abilities, but she was not bothered. She would do as she was told, and if what he wanted was her seemingly-superior eyesight to watch for the return of the Herald's party, then she would do it. She no longer followed blindly - she had learned her lesson with Loghain Mac Tir - but neither did she challenge an order unless needed.

Challenging this assignment would have simply proved she was the whiny, spoiled knight he was afraid she was.

Her companion on the scaffold was another come from Denerim, an elven scout she had worked with on many occasions. In Cauthrien's opinion, elves made the best sentries, if for no other reason than their hearing far outstripped a human's. An elf could hear something clearly a human could not even detect in a quiet room. But the prejudice against the race still clung very strongly to many, despite King Alistair doing all he could to counter it. In the end, he'd had to open a separate branch of his military for the elves he now allowed to enlist. Many humans simply refused to serve with the elves, and besides, the elves had little care for the humans in the guard. Experience had shown them that humans were not to be trusted.

Cauthrien, who had initially simply ignored elves and their plight, had had her own mind changed by the king. His two most trusted advisors, Master Zevran Arainai and Mistress Shianni Tabris, were elves, and they gave nothing but good advice. Dismantling the gates to the alienage had only improved the situation in Denerim. Allowing the elves to live wherever they wanted, to conduct business wherever they wanted, had increased the prosperity of all, allowing fine elven craftsmanship into general circulation. It was not perfect - some were still attacked, thefts still happened, and hate still abounded - but the one language that could speak more loudly than hate was gold.

King Alistair, coming from a common upbringing, understood this, and did not look down upon the trend. Instead, he used it, starting a program with the treasury to give loans to aspiring business and tradespeople, human and elven alike. The people were mostly happy. They had a generous king and queen who were heroes of the Blight and whose love for each other bled over into everything they did. Punishment was meted out to those deserving of such, but for the most part, prosperity had brought peace and understanding. Well, at least the facade of understanding. True understanding should follow in time. Things were changing, slowly but surely.

The elven man beside Cauthrien suddenly perked up. He looked out over the lake, straining to see.

"What is it?" Cauthrien asked.

"I thought I heard horseshoes on gravel," he said. "But I don't see anything yet. And it was just the hint. It would be far away yet."

Cauthrien thought about it. Should they send someone out? A company? Perhaps send scouts out into the trees to surround whoever was coming, in case it was a hostile force?

"I'll tell the commander," she announced, already reaching for the ladder. Sliding down, she was on the ground and jogging for Commander Rutherford in seconds.

"Something to report, Ser Cauthrien?"

Cauthrien smiled internally. He at least recognized her rank, even if he put no stock in it. It hadn't been so long since she'd had to earn someone's trust and respect. If she could do it with the king after the fiasco of Loghain's betrayal, then she could earn this man's respect with no problem.

"My partner on the scaffold thinks he heard horseshoes, but we can't see anything yet. It could be the Herald's party returned, or it could be a hostile force."

The commander nodded. "It could be the possessed corpse of a horse for all we know. Elven hearing is good, but if he only _thinks_ he heard it…"

"Then it's still a long way off," Cauthrien finished with a nod. "Perhaps a sortie to see what the problem is?"

"No." Cullen shook his head. "Lead a handful of scouts through the trees. Your fastest ones from Denerim. Send word ahead whether or not it's hostile. Greet them if it's the Herald. Do not engage if it is not."

Cauthrien smiled. "Aye, sir," she responded, turning and running for just the people she had in mind. Already he saw her competence and gave her more responsibility. Cauthrien could not be more pleased.

* * *

Zanneth sat on a seat in the tavern back in Haven, currently staring down the contents of her tankard. The brew was bitter, bubbly, and she could not help the grimace after she swallowed. She would have much-preferred a dry wine. But this was what had been placed before her, and she did not want to waste it. Besides, she could feel it working, and she felt markedly relaxed already.

Her party had returned to Haven early that afternoon. One of Cullen's human soldiers, introducing herself as Ser Cauthrien, had emerged from the trees to meet them, several elves in the uniform of the Inquisition joining her. Their party looked the worse for wear, but Solas's healing magic had ensured that nobody sported more than cuts and bruises. Anything potentially life-threatening had been staved off with magic, broken bones mended and anything larger than a cut closed up to a puckered scar. Zanneth had made a mental note to always ensure they had a mage capable of healing with them, as it would save lives and minimize tragedy in their small numbers. She also needed to learn some form of close-up combat, so she did not always need to rely on Cassandra for protection in battle.

After a debrief with the council, Bull, Varric, and Sera had dragged her off to the tavern to celebrate the closing of a rift and their success in Val Royeaux. Among the people. Zanneth could see that having the Herald around was definitely putting those crowding into the tavern into high spirits. Already several tankards she would never drink had been delivered anonymously to the table. The three she sat with had selflessly volunteered to drink it for her.

Now Varric sat recounting the tale of closing the rift the day before. His audience was rowdy, but still they paid attention to the dwarf's tale. It was hardly accurate. Zanneth had been scared witless. But to hear Varric tell it, Zanneth grew to ten feet tall, had the strength of ten men, and had never felt an ounce of fear in her life.

"I see Varric is spinning his tales."

Zanneth looked next to her to see that Cassandra, now in clean, undamaged clothing, had taken the empty space on the bench next to her. The Seeker was oddly weaponless, though Zanneth noted with a glance that she still carried several daggers on her person, just neither of her swords. Most notable, however, was that Cassandra was the only one willing to simply sit next to Zanneth, no questions asked. The nearly month-long journey to Val Royeaux and back had definitely brought them all closer, but none so close as the Seeker and the Herald. Truly, Zanneth had not been so comfortable around another since Hyune.

Thoughts of her brother abounded always. There was never a moment he was not at the back of her mind. He was the only one who had always been there. Even their grandmother, as clan Keeper, had duties that often deprived Zanneth and Hyune of her company. But the siblings had each other, and that was all they had. Especially Hyune. Zanneth remembered a time in the world before Hyune. But for him, she had _always_ been there. And in the end, she had let him down. She had failed to protect her little brother.

She wished she could remember what had happened.

Thoughts of Sinna were actually easier to shake, though once they took hold it was impossible to not get lost in them. And thoughts of Hyune invariably led to thoughts of Sinna. Sinna's easy smile, his light hair and green eyes that were so different from any others in her clan, his broad shoulders and caring ways. But when the memories moved to the way he held her hand, the way he stripped her clothes, the way he lay on top of her and pushed inside of her, it made her gut clench. She carried his child. It was confirmed; her courses had not come when they were due. What would she do? She could only hope that they closed the Breach before she was incapacitated by the pregnancy, and she could go on her way, give birth with the midwife of her clan.

She did not want this child, this reminder of her lack of love for its father, but she could not change it. She would do what she must.

"What is wrong?" Cassandra's voice jarred her from her thoughts.

Zanneth forced a smile. "Thinking of my clan. My grandmother. I just realized that they do not know I yet live. Would it be possible to send a message?"

"I do not see why not. I can speak with Sister Nightingale in the morning and see if one of her masterful falcons can be spared." The Seeker reached over for one of the many tankards of ale unclaimed in the middle of the table. "I take it these are for anyone?"

"Gifts from admiring soldiers!" Bull announced, reaching over and clapping Zanneth so hard on the shoulder that the elf thought for a moment it had come dislocated. The giant qunari had the barmaid on his knee, his own tankard of ale in front of him, and a beaming smile of his face. The only other time Zanneth had seen him so happy was directly after a fight. The man clearly had simple desires. There was something utterly beautiful in that.

The Dalish elf's gaze was caught just then by a scowling face in the corner. The look was situated on a pale female face, covered in freckles and ruddy from drink. Atop the head was flaming ginger hair, and below was a tabard of the Inquisition. It caught Zanneth's eye because it was literally the only face in the entire tavern that was not alight in cheer. Everyone else listened to Varric or worked on company for the night, flirting and getting drunk in equal measure. This was the only face set in a scowl.

"Ugh, this is the best we have?"

Okay, perhaps it was not the only scowl in the room. "What's wrong, Cassandra? The Inquisition hasn't requisitioned good enough ale for you?" Zanneth teased.

The Seeker huffed a laugh before taking another drink. "No matter how hard I try, I suppose my spoiled noble roots still show, don't they?"

Zanneth smiled, pushing the scowling face in the corner out of her mind. "I can't say I blame you. It would be nice to have a little wine and some venison. Nothing like the taste of home."

"You drink wine? But your people don't cultivate grapes."

"My clan is somewhat more friendly with humans than those in Ferelden and Orlais, I think. I never encountered humans myself, but our craftsmen would go to whatever village or town we passed near laden down with items for trade. They always came back with food and drink items we could not get in the forest, like wine and bread."

Cassandra nodded. "I see. And it was always small villages and towns? Hamlets and the like?"

Zanneth nodded, taking another drink and trying to hold back the grimace. "We couldn't risk a place too large. As long as we stood a chance of defending our people, we were safe. I'm told it was only the elves in those places who would even deign to trade with us, and I never saw the reason we _always_ stopped, but I could never deny that sharing a wineskin around my grandmother's fire was a treat well worth the stop near the village. Given how my life has gone… perhaps I should have accompanied them on some occasion or other. I never knew I would spend so much time with humans."

Cassandra smirked. "The only human you have spent any appreciable time with is me. Otherwise, you have other elves, a qunari, and a dwarf as your inseparable companions. Hardly something spending time in a rat-spit village would have prepared you for."

Zanneth laughed. "True!" she announced, feeling the smile settle into her face. This felt good, this camaraderie. She had never really felt it before. Maybe… maybe being here wasn't such a bad change after all?

She left the tavern over an hour later, a little drunk and very tired. She looked forward to the bed in her cabin, being able to strip her clothes and settle into the feather mattress under the wool blankets. Taking a shortcut between the apothecary and the tavern, Zanneth headed out, weaving pleasantly with her drink.

"Bloody knife-ear."

Startled by the unexpected voice, Zanneth looked up just in time to see a fist coming directly for her face.

Pain exploded around her eyes. She felt a crunch and knew that her nose had broken. Crumpling to the ground, she tried to roll away, but her assailant did not let her. A thud sounded a split-second before she registered the pain of a boot to her gut.

"Filthy scum, taking our jobs and our livelihood!"

Another explosion of pain to her shoulder, then her knee, then her gut once more. Zanneth was made of pain. All she knew was pain.

"No way Andraste would choose an elf for her Herald! You're a fraud, you have to be!"

She curled up, trying to shy away from the assault, trying to present parts of her body that didn't hurt quite so much. But then she was being wrenched flat on her back, and a weight settled on her hips, pinning her to the ground. Her hands were gripped and thrust under her assailant's knees, removing any obstacle to the elf's face. An odd detachment from the pain settled over Zanneth, and as a fist crashed into her cheek, all she could think about was the feeling of the frozen gravel pressed into her back. The sheath of her hunting knife pressed awkwardly into her thigh. The weight on her hips felt oddly familiar.

What was Sinna doing here? Why had he not removed her clothing first?

Black crept in around her vision, and she could not focus on the alarm bells sounding in the back of her mind. Something was wrong, but what? The weight vanished, shouting sounded in the background, and then the blackness took her, carrying her to a warm, soft place that she was all too eager to get to.

* * *

"My Lady Montilyet, what a pleasant surprise to meet you out here."

Lady Montilyet smiled, walking to meet Cauthrien. "I really should take more exercise than I do. It is so easy to lose track of time in that dark office."

Cauthrien offered her arm. "Would you like to accompany me in a walk about the village?"

A warm smile. "Yes, of course."

It had become a nightly ritual at this point, though not acknowledged as such. Cauthrien would go for a walk after finishing her supper, and as she passed the Chantry, Lady Montilyet would be at the door, looking out over the village. Cauthrien would say it was a pleasant surprise, and Lady Montilyet would join her for a stroll.

It was the highlight of the knight's day.

How Cauthrien had managed to steal Lady Montilyet's attention, she would never know. But she had no intention of letting this opportunity slip. Romance was never something she had made room for, and while she had dallied with people on two separate occasions - one man in Gwaren, and one woman in Denerim - she had never allowed it to blossom in this way. It had been dallying and nothing more, though each affair had lasted several years before the other informed her that they had met someone else they intended to settle down with.

The Antivan woman on her arm was beautiful. Her skin was dark, dusted with yet darker freckles, her ebony locks naturally wavy. Cauthrien had a difficult time not picturing it down around her face, reflecting the red firelight of the hearth. The ambassador was shorter than her, coming somewhere between her nose and her eyes, and Cauthrien's heart skipped _every_ time Lady Montilyet glanced up through thick lashes to meet her eyes. What might that combination be like with their clothes missing, no longer worried about propriety and polite conversation?

So far nothing untoward had happened. It had been weeks since they had met at the wedding, the day after Cauthrien's arrival. She was unsure how these things usually went. She would very much like to kiss the ambassador. But Lady Montilyet was Antivan nobility. Surely Cauthrien could not simply pull her into an abandoned doorway and start snogging her?

So they walked, and talked. Sometimes the conversation grew personal, intimate. But more often than not they stayed on polite subjects that would not scandalize even the most prudish person who might overhear. It was nice, to have the company of a beautiful woman as she strolled through the village. Far nicer than the rough crowd currently in the tavern.

"Ser Cauthrien, I wondered…"

"Hmm?"

The ambassador looked down and away. "I wondered if you might-"

Cauthrien stiffened as someone appeared from between two buildings, cutting short whatever Lady Montilyet might have just said. It was one of the elven scouts that had been placed under her command that day by her thankful commander. He looked around wildly, then latched on to Cauthrien.

"Ser Cauthrien! I heard something. A fight, though I think it is one-sided!"

"Dammit…" Cauthrien released Lady Montilyet's arm. "I apologize, but I must break this up. Our soldiers cannot be allowed to brawl like common thugs."

"I will accompany you. Perhaps the sight of a lady will rid them of their barbarism."

Cauthrien was about to argue - the sight of blood and beaten faces from a brawl was no sight for a lady - but the elven scout was already running, and the knight had no choice but to follow if she didn't want to find her own way.

She heard the sound of a fist striking flesh. Putting on a burst of speed, Cauthrien rounded a corner on the heels of her scout. There, halfway hidden between the apothecary and the tavern, was someone sitting astride another, fists falling in a sickening rhythm. Cauthrien spared no time for disgust, merely continuing her sprint to the brawl, hauling the attacker off and throwing her on her ass.

Then the scene truly hit Cauthrien, and her heart fell through her stomach.

The person on the ground was the Herald, and the woman she'd just thrown behind her was Threnn.

"Threnn, what were you thinking?!" she yelled, rounding on her subordinate.

Threnn had been a pain in her side since Gwaren. A racist soldier was one thing, but Threnn took the elves' ascent in Denerim personally, spouting on about how the elves took jobs away from humans, and their goods were poor quality but cheap so people bought them, taking business away from good, honest human craftsmen. She also spared no love for King Alistair. She had remained blindly loyal to Loghain Mac Tir through everything, including his death, but she followed orders and did everything technically correct in her guard rotation, so no one had fired her. She just ran at the mouth when she drank.

This, however, was too far. Why did they allow her to volunteer for the Inquisition? No one knew the Herald was an elf until she had arrived back in Haven earlier that day. Cauthrien should have known she'd have trouble with some of her people.

"I… will get help," she heard Lady Montilyet announce, and then crunching footsteps disappeared in the direction of the tavern's entrance. Most people were there. It was a good bet to find help inside.

"You're defending her?!" Threnn's voice was incredulous, though Cauthrien noted that she was smart enough to remain on the ground where the knight had deposited her. "What kind of knight are you? You leave our noble Teyrn to his death. You embrace that elf-shagger of a sham king, and now you protect this false Herald?!"

"Shut your mouth before you condemn yourself to the gibbet, Threnn!" Cauthrien warned.

"No! I will be quiet no longer! This cannot stand! It's wrong! Andraste would not choose a knife-ear for her Herald!"

Cauthrien's temper flared. "Who are you to decide who Andraste would choose?! Do you stand at the Maker's side? Do you claim some holy connection with Him, who abandoned His creations on Thedas? Are you a priest, in addition to being a bigoted prig?!" She took a deep breath, standing directly over Threnn now. "The Maker gave you the ability to close your loose lips. I recommend you exercise the ability now."

"Zanneth!"

Cauthrien turned to see Seeker Pentaghast rounding the corner, the giant qunari and Lady Montilyet flanking her. The Divine's Right Hand sprinted to the white-haired Herald's side, and within moments was standing with the clearly unconscious elf in her arms. "Get Solas," she said, and the qunari ran off. Without further word, she disappeared into the night, Lady Montilyet running toward the Chantry.

Cauthrien turned back to Threnn. Taking her roughly by the collar, she hauled the soldier to her feet. Before she could say anything or react in any way, Cauthrien's gauntleted fist lashed out, taking Threnn in the temple in a move designed to rob her of consciousness. She let the soldier crumple to the ground, her face stony even as a number of emotions roiled underneath, chief among them anger.

"Inform Commander Rutherford of what happened," she said to her elven companion. "I'll be here, watching over this piss-poor excuse for the king's guard."


	15. An Unexpected End

_A/N: Trigger warning for blood and pain. If you read the AU I wrote, You Are Mine and I Am Yours, then you'll recognize some elements from it in here. I actually knew all this was going to happen in OS3 before I even wrote that AU, so I wanted to make them reflect each other some. Though of course the romance is moving **much** more slowly. I'll put a longer AN at the bottom, so as not to spoil this chapter._

* * *

_Chapter 15: An Unexpected End_

Cassandra's heart pounded so fast she was not sure when one beat ended and the next began. There was so much blood. Zanneth's face was a patchwork of open wounds and swollen bruising, made all the more stark because of the elf's pale skin. Blood ran bright crimson into her white hair, one eye was already swelling shut, and her nose was quite obviously broken. It was a horrid sight, all of it.

But Cassandra focused on the fact that the elf's chest still rose and fell. She was alive, breathing strongly, and Solas could already be seen running toward Zanneth's cabin, the door of which the Seeker had just passed through.

Why had Zanneth been attacked? Who would attack the Herald? Cassandra had not stuck around to find out. Ser Cauthrien, the knight who had greeted them on the road earlier that day, seemed to have a handle on the attacker. The Seeker's primary concern was Zanneth's safety. And with her attacker stopped, the next step was healing.

It would be difficult to stop Cassandra's wrath once the Herald was in the clear, however.

She laid the elf down on the bed, and then Solas was there, pushing Cassandra away and kneeling by the Herald. Solas had never exhibited much concern for any individual he had been asked to heal. He always left them with scarring or pink wounds which would heal further on their own. Solona had never done that. When the arcane warrior was through healing someone, she was sweating and tired, and the only sign of the wound was bruising and sometimes a faint scar if the injury had been truly horrendous. Solas was never fatigued after healing someone, but it was clear to Cassandra, who had some small understanding of how the magic worked, that he did not connect himself so strongly to those he worked his healing magic upon.

In essence, he knew the magic well, but was not the _type_ to be a good healer. He lacked the compassion of a true caregiver.

But she could not ask him to give of himself like that. It must be freely offered. Still, it bothered Cassandra. Would he be so reserved with Zanneth?

Murmured words filled the air, and Cassandra watched as blue liquid light flowed from the bald elf's hands. Zanneth's breathing seemed to ease, and Cassandra's heartbeat finally began to slow. It would be all right. The Herald would make it.

The relief was palpable.

Turning, she hurried out, surprised when she saw The Iron Bull directly outside the door, giant maul held menacingly in front of his chest. "You are standing guard?"

"It's my job," Bull grunted, staring down at her with his one eye. "I offered myself as a bodyguard and I meant it. Didn't think I'd need to _in camp_, but now that it's obvious, this is where I'll be until we can teach her how to defend herself. And vet our fucking soldiers."

Cassandra nodded. "I agree. Thank you. I… will be back, with water and bandaging."

"Good. I'm sure you'll need it. That was a lot of blood."

Cassandra's heart sank. Yes. Yes, it was a lot of blood. She hurried away, returning with the promised bandaging and kettle for boiling water, Leliana on her heels, carrying clean rags.

"I've set her nose and healed the damaged tissue. There was some internal bleeding, but I've stopped it. The rest will have to heal on its own, but she is out of danger. And her face shouldn't scar."

"Thank you, Solas," Cassandra murmured, eyes fixed on Zanneth's face. Her color had improved, what could be seen of it through the drying blood. As the Seeker moved closer, allowing Solas to leave, she saw that while the broken nose and many cuts had been fixed, the bruising was still spreading. The Dalish elf had two black eyes, one of them still swollen half-shut, and her lip was split. But she breathed easily and deeply, so Cassandra was happy with the work Solas had done.

Leliana, however, was not. "It almost doesn't look as though he did anything at all."

"Believe it or not, she looks much better than when I brought her in."

The Left Hand pursed her lips in response, shaking her head. "Solona would never have left her in such a state."

"Solona is one of a kind." Cassandra moved for the fire, hanging the kettle over it to boil. They then moved to the elf's side, gingerly removing her clothing piece by piece, until she lay only in her undergarments. Cassandra hissed in her breath as swaths of bruised skin were revealed. Zanneth's broken ribs had been mended, but the contusions persisted, spreading black and purple over skin that should be alabaster. As she and Leliana worked, her anger began to boil, and by the time they had Zanneth in her smallclothes, small breasts bared to check for cuts where boots had landed on her chest, Cassandra was feeling particularly murderous.

"You will vet every single person who came here from Denerim," Cassandra said, holding Leliana's gaze. "This cannot happen again."

Leliana nodded. "I will start with the attacker, but I will also interview every person here. We also need her to learn to defend herself. But, Cassandra, she is small, an elf, and no matter how well she is taught, she is still vulnerable. Her mark makes her a target."

"I will attach myself to her. She will go nowhere without myself, Bull, or someone equally as loyal at her side. We cannot risk this happening again."

"I will begin my interviewing tonight."

The water was boiling now. Pouring some into a basin of cold water, the Right and Left Hand of the Divine began to gently wash Andraste's Herald of dried and drying blood. They worked well into the night, until she was clean and covered with a blanket, sleeping gently upon her bed. Then Leliana took her leave to begin her interrogation of their soldiers, and Cassandra began her long vigil over the unconscious Dalish elf.

* * *

Zanneth awoke slowly. She felt dry and warm. Indeed, she had never been more comfortable in her life.

Until she tried to move.

"Oh, Creators, I hurt," she groaned.

"You're awake?" It was Cassandra's voice. Zanneth tried to open her eyes, but she found that one of them would not open, and the vision in the other took a moment to clarify.

"Cass?"

"That is the second time you've called me that," the Seeker said, appearing in Zanneth's limited vision. "Is this how you would like to address me?"

"It was not intentional. It just… came out. I- ah!" Zanneth yelped, her attempt at sitting up ending in pain ripping through her abdomen.

A restraining hand appeared on her shoulder. "Please, don't try to move just yet. You are safe, but you will be sore for many days."

Zanneth lay back, blinking her one working eye. "Why can I only open one eye?" She reached up to feel, and found her left eye swollen shut, the skin tight over the swelling.

"You took quite the beating. Do you… remember?"

_A fist comes for her face, pain blossoms behind her eye_.

The elf's eye snapped open. "Someone attacked me! Oh, Cassandra, it was terrible! I couldn't get away! Then they were sitting on me, and it got… odd. Like I was separate from my body…"

Cassandra nodded. "Yes, that happens. It's a blessing, to be removed from the pain. However, it also means that you stop struggling. If no one is around to help, it only hastens the attacker's beating."

"Why would someone in the Inquisition attack me?"

Cassandra's face showed her worry. "It was one of the new recruits. She is being questioned. I dare not go near her just yet or I am afraid she would be incapable of supplying answers."

Despite everything, Zanneth smiled. "You do seem to get rather protective of me."

The Seeker gave her a rueful look, though it changed very quickly into a thoughtful softness that Zanneth could not quite identify. "We must keep you safe." Her voice, too, was gentle, low and husky and nothing like the severe tone she usually adopted. "If we lose you… we are lost."

"Of course," Zanneth replied, her heart falling into her stomach a little. "You cannot lose your Herald." _Why do I wish she cared about me personally?_

"I do not mean _I_ do not want you safe," Cassandra rushed, her hand on Zanneth's shoulder once more. It was calloused but warm, soft and gentle in its own way. Her _skin_ was rough, but not her grasp.

The elf realized that her shoulder was bare, her _vallaslin_ visible in the low light from the fire. A moment's consideration told her she was nude under the blanket, except for her smallclothes. Her heart kicked into action at the thought. She did not like the thought of being undressed whilst unaware. But what other option did the healers have? One must check the whole body for damage.

Suddenly, Zanneth's stomach kicked, wrenching her attention away from her thoughts of being undressed. "Oh!" she cried out, rolling to her side and doubling over. Another shot of pain ripped through her belly. She groaned, unable to answer Cassandra's frantic pawing and questioning as to her well-being.

"Zanneth!"

Hands clawed at her, and then the blanket was being pulled away, but Zanneth could not focus on anything but the pain searing through her gut.

"Maker!" she heard Cassandra gasp. She chanced a look to where the Seeker's eyes had fallen, and her heart fell through her stomach, cold fear gripping her spine.

There, underneath her, was a spreading pool of blood soaking into the sheets.

* * *

Cassandra was frantic. "Zanneth!"

_What do I do? What is happening? What is wrong?!_

_You know what this is, Cassandra. You have seen it plenty of times before. She is miscarrying._

_She was pregnant?!_

_She mentioned a betrothed. Likely, they got to the marital act before the marriage. Who hasn't? You took a lover without any thoughts of marriage._

The thoughts, while a conversation, took only a moment to flash through her mind. Meanwhile, Zanneth had looked to see what Cassandra had seen and was now shaking her head.

"Not this, too," the girl moaned, hugging herself around her stomach, eyes now closed. "Everything… I've lost everything… not this, too…"

"Zanneth, I need to go for help-"

"No!" The elf's eye snapped open, startlingly clear despite the darkness in the room. "Please, don't… this is shameful enough as it is… oh!" She curled in pain once more.

Caught halfway between standing and sitting, Cassandra sank to her knees by the bedside. "Very well," she said, reaching for and taking one of the elf's hands. It was too late to save the child now. She would watch the elf, wait and see what was required. Zanneth immediately clamped down on her in a vice grip. "But if the bleeding does not stop soon, or I become otherwise worried, Bull it outside the door. I _will_ call for help if I decide we need it. That is not up for debate."

Zanneth nodded. "All right. I trust you." Her gaze held nothing but that trust, in fact. The way she held on to Cassandra, it was clear that the Seeker was her lifeline in this moment. Zanneth needed to keep talking, to focus on something other than the pain; Cassandra would need to draw her attention away from herself.

"Tell me about…" she cast about for some subject that would not be painful to focus on right now. Her eyes fell on Zanneth's bow, propped up in the corner of the cabin. "Tell me about the hunt."

"W- what?" The Dalish elf's gaze turned confused.

"You need to concentrate on something else. It will help the pain, I promise. Tell me about the hunt. I am no hunter. I am curious to hear about something you do well."

"I… very well…" The elf grimaced, but her eye fixed on Cassandra's after another moment. "It takes a great deal of patience…"

* * *

Leliana had heard enough from their captive. Well, she had not _heard_ anything. But she was convinced that this soldier, Threnn of Gwaren, was telling the truth, as despicable as Leliana found that truth. She acted alone, barely premeditated, out of her disbelief that the Herald was an elf. She was not an infiltrator from the Chantry or anywhere else, come to sabotage the Inquisition in its infancy. Leliana left the dungeons, allowing Cullen to punish his soldier as he saw fit.

Just outside the stairs, she found Ser Cauthrien waiting, speaking quietly with Josephine. Leliana had not missed their strolls through the village. They liked each other. She could see it in the way they looked upon each other from across Haven during the day. Josephine could certainly do worse. She would need to speak with the ambassador at some point. Leliana liked Cauthrien, but she also remembered the first time she had met the warrior, the night Leliana and Alistair had been taken prisoner in Arl Howe's estate in Denerim. Cauthrien had been mostly cordial, though she'd had a few nasty words for Leliana, but the imprisonment had led to the bard's torture. Loghain had reopened every one of the scars upon her back that night, plying her for information that did not exist.

Josephine should know that Cauthrien was capable of dark things under the right circumstances. And Cauthrien should know that Leliana cared deeply for her friend and would not hesitate to spill the knight's guts on the floor if she found Josie had been unduly hurt.

But now was not the time for that.

"Cauthrien," Leliana said, getting the knight's attention. Cauthrien turned, eyes hardening when she saw that Leliana was emerging from the dungeons.

"What's her sentence?"

Leliana shrugged. "I do not know. That is not my jurisdiction. I left before Commander Rutherford said anything. I am convinced, however, that she acted alone and out of prejudice. She is not representative of a larger threat to the Inquisition."

"The fact she felt strongly enough to attack the Herald is indicative of just how deep this prejudice against elves goes, however," Josephine said, brows furrowed, creating a small vertical line over the bridge of her nose.

Leliana's shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. "We always knew getting the world to accept an elven Herald would be difficult. However, we have no choice. Andraste's Herald or merely a victim of circumstance, she is the one with the mark, and the only one who has shown any ability to manipulate the rifts or the Breach. We need her. We will simply need to make others see that."

"I have a suggestion on that front," Cauthrien said after a moment.

"Oh?" Leliana raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

They shared a rather dark chuckle at her phrasing. Anyone who heard Leliana speak would know she was deaf. Cauthrien and Josephine had both known for years.

"From what I've managed to gather, the rifts all started here, at the Breach, and have drifted away since. Is that correct?"

Leliana nodded. "As far as we can tell."

"Well," Cauthrien continued, looking thoughtful. "I know our resources are limited, but perhaps what our troops need is to see with their own eyes that the Herald is our only hope. Because Threnn…" Here, Cauthrien's eyes darkened. "Threnn did not believe, nor does she now. Only seeing it with her own eyes would sway her. But she has forfeited that right."

Leliana narrowed her eyes in thought. "Perhaps you are right. I will speak with Seeker Pentaghast and Commander Rutherford. What do you think, Josephine?"

"I think we can do one better," Josie responded, eyes taking on that shrewd look Leliana knew all too well. "Take them to the Temple ruins first. Make them see what we are truly up against. The devastation, and the Breach above them. _Then_ send them out with our Herald to close rifts, as they are found."

Leliana smiled. "Brilliant, Josie! But we cannot send them all out at once. I will send scouts out to find any still in the area. Cauthrien."

"Yes?"

"Start vetting your people, find those most in need of this display. Start spending time with those who have already seen the Herald in action, and have them tell the stories as much as possible. As the Inquisition grows, we can either gather more like the soldier in the dungeons, or we can gather people who _believe_. Let us do what we can to influence them toward the latter."

"Excellent idea," Josephine said, eyes still holding that glint. Josephine was painfully sincere, and naïve when it came to matters of the heart, if not matters of the body. But she was an excellent player of the Game. She just played it with sincere words rather than seductions and double-dealings. In some ways that made her even more dangerous, because those who gave her what she wanted _desired_ to do so, based on the _truth_. It might be the truth presented in a manner that benefited the ambassador, but that did not make it any less true.

The only thing that saved anyone was Josephine's high moral fiber.

"I want a report on what you discover, Cauthrien. Tomorrow evening."

The knight nodded.

"A _verbal_ report, Cauthrien. I don't want anyone else knowing what we're up to."

"Understood." The knight moved away. Leliana did not miss how Josephine followed the woman away and out into the night air. Shaking her head, the spymaster headed for the makeshift rookery behind the Chantry. She needed to see if any birds had returned. _And I should try sending Solona's bird again, now that he has rested for a day_. Not that she expected it to find its mark.

She sighed. Seeing Josephine and Ser Cauthrien had her thinking of her own love.

_Solona… where are you?_

* * *

Cassandra sat with Zanneth into the night, keeping her talking, giving her a water-soaked rag to suck on when she was thirsty, as she could not sit up to drink. The pain had subsided to a dull ache, no longer feeling like a kick to her gut, but still the elf grimaced in pain on occasion, and still blood appeared on the sheets below her lower half.

Throughout, Cassandra listened to Zanneth tell her about life in a Dalish clan. She listened to descriptions of hunting, of caring for a bow, of what a Dalish Keeper used magic for. She listened as Zanneth spoke of a childhood spent climbing trees and swimming in streams, going to sleep each night in her grandmother's _aravel_ with her little brother. She listened as Zanneth confessed that she did not love her betrothed, though while she did not want this child, neither did she want it to die. She wrapped her arm around the elf's shoulder and let her tears soak her tabard when the guilt for her feelings overcame her.

Sometime during her vigil, something occurred to Cassandra in startling clarity: somewhere over the course of the last two days, without her knowledge or permission, she had gone from feeling attraction for Zanneth to the beginnings of a deep affection that she could not shake. The realization startled her, and gave her immense guilt. Zanneth had just lost her brother and her lover, and now her _child_. There was no room for Cassandra to move in on her heart, even if the warrior could get past all the other reasons why it was not a good idea for the Seeker to have feelings for the Herald.

So she pushed the knowledge aside. She would continue as she ever had done. Her personal feelings were unimportant.

After an hour, the bleeding tapered off and eventually stopped.

"The bleeding has stopped." Cassandra's voice was quiet, rough, like she had also spent the last hour talking and sobbing and sniffling. She swallowed, feeling a lump in the back of her throat. "Come, Zanneth, we should clean you up and get you fresh bedding."

The elf looked up from her place lying in the Seeker's arms, face buried in Cassandra's shoulder as the warrior knelt by the bed. Her brown eyes red-rimmed from her tears. The fact that she was so comfortable with Cassandra made the Seeker's heart beat double-time. Now that she was aware of her feelings, she felt she was somehow taking advantage of Zanneth's trust. But it was freely given. Cassandra knew she had done nothing to demand this closeness. In fact, it was incredibly unlike the Seeker to grow so close to someone else, especially so quickly. So she was not sure what she should do, whether she should inject some distance between them.

Considering their situation, however, convinced her that she should decide later. Right now, she would follow the elf's cues.

"I need to clean you up, and your bedding needs to be changed, but you need to move as little as possible." Cassandra watched as Zanneth nodded her understanding. "If you don't mind, I will lift you and place you in the chair before I clean your bed."

"All right," Zanneth croaked. Her voice was hoarse. Her throat must hurt something awful. _**All**__ of her must hurt something awful_, Cassandra corrected herself.

Shifting her arm, Cassandra stood with the elf in her arms. "I feel I have been in this situation with you too many times since I have known you," she murmured, mirroring Zanneth's smile. The elf was far lighter than even a human of her same height, meaning her weight was nowhere near a burden on the battle-worn warrior. Moving across the room, Cassandra deposited the elf as gently as possible in the chair by the fire, immediately wrapping her own cloak around the elf's shoulders.

She then stoked the coals back into flames, placed the half-full kettle over them once more, and stripped the feather mattress of the dirtied sheets. Cassandra was surprised to find the mattress was not stained, but somewhere in the back of her mind she recalled that Josephine had insisted they use beeswax-coated liners under the sheets on all the beds here, so as to protect the expensive mattresses from dirty bodies while also protecting themselves from smelling like a chicken coop. The Seeker made a mental note to thank the ambassador at her next opportunity. It made her job right now far easier.

Replacing the sheet over the mattress, Cassandra balled up the soiled bedding and deposited it just outside the door for servants to pick up. They would not wonder at all the blood, as Zanneth had been carried in to her cabin bloodied. Bull was still there, keeping watch, his one eye meeting hers briefly, nodding once in acknowledgement. Maker knew what he had heard, but he had not barged in, trusting Cassandra to get him only if she needed him. Bull had just shot up to the top of her list of people she liked. It was admittedly a short list, but that made his placement at its top all the more impressive.

The Seeker returned inside to the kettle boiling. She mixed the water with cold once more, setting the basin on the floor by the bed before returning to Zanneth's side.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

The elf managed a wan smile. "It no longer hurts. I feel drained, though. Very tired. I think I could sleep for days." She suddenly shivered, despite being buried in Cassandra's fur-lined cloak. She winced, no doubt from the spasming of her muscles aggravated her bruised and battered body. "I'm too warm, but I'm shivering?"

Cassandra nodded, kneeling. "That is fine. It is the blood loss. I have presided over other women who had miscarried. Theirs have gone like yours. I would feel better if Solas checked you over…"

Cassandra trailed off at Zanneth's vigorous headshake. Sighing, she nodded again. "Yes, I suspected as much. Promise me you will at least be forthcoming with any changes to _me_?"

"Yes, I will," the elf agreed, placing her arms around Cassandra's shoulders as the warrior scooped her up. The Seeker's heart broke a little to feel the elf shivering in her arms.

She knelt by the bed in order to lower Zanneth as gently as she could, placing the elf atop her cloak until she had her clean. She then retrieved the last of the clean rags, dipping one into the basin and beginning to dab away the still-sticky blood.

"I will need to remove your smallclothes," she finally said. The garment was blood-soaked and already starting to stiffen as the blood dried. It would need to be removed. She would let the elf clean her most intimate areas, however. Cassandra knew _she_ would not want another to do that for her if she were at all capable.

Zanneth agreed, and Cassandra untied and stripped away the garment, carefully averting her eyes. Even should she want to take advantage of their positions right now, the elf's bloodied womanhood would only be horrific to witness. She had no wish to violate the elf's trust by turning this into a peepshow, and knew that there was nothing pleasant to peep at, anyway.

She turned and busied herself with clean blankets while Zanneth cleaned herself. Cassandra then returned, unfolding a woolen blanket and spreading it over her charge.

"So deliberate."

Cassandra looked up to see Zanneth's one dark brown eye fixed on her. The warrior felt her face heat inexplicably. "Oh?"

"Yes. Every single thing you do is done with such great care and intention."

"I don't mean to-"

The elf cut her off, a single finger pressing over Cassandra's lips. "I like it, Cassandra. I feel… so _utterly_ cared for right now."

Cassandra's cheeks flared further, but before she could busy herself finding her feet, the elf's hand left her lips and traveled to her cheek. The skin of her scars was particularly sensitive, and a shiver traveled down her spine as Zanneth caressed the warrior's face with her unmarked hand.

"How did you get these?"

Somehow, Cassandra found her voice, albeit barely above a whisper. "I… Leliana and I were ambushed in Val Royeaux last spring. While she is a formidable fighter, she is deaf, and sometimes her opponents are able to take advantage of her disability. She… threw a dagger and took my opponent in the throat. But when I turned, I saw a man behind her, just about to take her in the back. She is my dear friend, like a sister to me, in some ways. I could not let it happen. I tackled her out of the way, and her assailant's blades sliced my face."

Zanneth's expression softened, a genuine smile overtaking her features. "So protective of those you care about. Is this where you tell me I 'should see the other guy,' as Varric so likes to put it?"

Cassandra huffed a laugh. "Given that he is dead… yes, I suppose that is an accurate, if crude, end to the tale. We did not have access to a mage or potions, so it scarred rather badly, even with a poultice made with herbs scavenged in the woods. But…"

"It is quite dashing," the elf murmured, her eyes now fixed on Cassandra. "It suits you. Severe, but… beautiful all the same."

Cassandra's heart kicked in her chest. This was going to get very difficult if she did not leave soon. "Yes, well. I… should leave you to sleep-"

Zanneth's hand fell to her shoulder, gripping her tabard tightly. "Please, Cassandra. I… I do not think I can do this night alone. Please stay with me? Sleep here?"

Cassandra swallowed. The earlier lump was gone, but in its place butterflies bounded up from her stomach. "I…"

_It will not be any different from sharing while on the road._

"Very well," she said, standing and stripping down to tunic and trousers before she could think better of it. She crawled over Zanneth, taking a place between the elf and the wall. Zanneth immediately turned, placing herself, utterly naked, in Cassandra's arms after wrapping the blanket over them both. She nuzzled her face into the warrior's shoulder, sighing contentedly as her body relaxed into Cassandra's embrace.

_That was a lie. This will be nothing like traveling._

Cassandra could not make herself relinquish her hold on the elf when it was so freely offered, however. Steeling herself, she resolved to only accept what was freely given like this, and to never push for more. Zanneth had been through far too much to have her friendly trust betrayed like that.

* * *

_A/N: Man, is Cass in it now, or what? Sorry I'm gonna torture her some, her and her feeeeeeeeelings. But I think I'm all done torturing Zanneth. She's shed all elements of her former life, had them forcefully removed, in fact, and can now see what a life of her choosing and making holds for her._

_I figured Cassandra would have been through this before with others. She is a woman, and while a warrior, if it were her and a bunch of men around during a birth or a miscarriage, in my mind, Cass woulda been called to help. Because she's a woman and therefore knows shit, at least according to her male brothers-in-arms. She's also around 40. She's seen some shit, ya know?_

_Also, I apologize in advance to anyone who liked Solas. I didn't. Don't get me wrong, I think they did amazingly with his character. But I played my Zanneth as truthfully to the character I have in my mind as I could, and he was a douche the whole time. I eventually got him to warm up a little, but his superiority to the Dalish **and** the city elves rubbed me - and Zanneth - entirely the wrong way. They did very well in making a subtly unlikeable character in my book. And knowing what we know about the end, his smugness makes sense. So whenever I talk about him, I try to base his speech and actions in the idea that he is smug and thinks himself superior, and also (MAJOR GAME SPOILERS) the Dread Wolf and therefore a bit of a fucker._

_But if you liked him or romanced him... sorry. *Shrug* This is how I decided to do it._

_Lastly, yes, I am going to keep doing this with Solona, keep mentioning her, not let anyone forget about her, until we learn what happened. I'm sorry, but you're just going to have to deal._


	16. Moving Past Grief

_A/N: Sorry for all the errors! It was my fault. Here's a corrected version, in which I actually accepted all my changes and then **saved** the damn file before uploading it._

* * *

_Chapter 16: Moving Past Grief_

Zanneth awoke to the dawn. Light streamed through the window, promising a clear day without snowfall. Down below, in the valley, autumn was in full swing. Up here, in Haven, winter only relinquished its hold in the summer months.

As she lay contemplating the sun through the window, she realized that she lay with her back to Cassandra, the Seeker's arm draped over her bare waist as she breathed peacefully in sleep. The Seeker was warm, combating the chilly room. The fire had burned out, having never been banked the night before, and the one woolen blanket covering her would never have been enough to keep her warm without the additional heat of the body next to her.

It took less than a minute for memories of all that had happened the night before to hit her.

Her heart dropped through her stomach at the images flashing through her mind. There had been so much blood. The pain had ripped through her, leaving her breathless and sweating. When it was over, she had felt simply… drained, exhausted. She had surrendered herself to Cassandra's kindness, allowing the human woman to be her lifeline while her body violently aborted the very last remnant of her life and family.

She honestly didn't know what she felt. Not at first. She was devastated, yes. It had been her duty to produce children, and Sinna had been such a good man, despite her lack of actual _love_ for him. The least she could do to honor him, and to honor their friendship, was to birth and raise his child.

But now she could not. It had been taken from her, by the soldier who attacked her. She still had no answer from Cassandra for why she would be so violently attacked, but she had heard what her assailant had said between hitting and kicking Zanneth. The elf was attacked for having the audacity to be an elf.

_I don't claim to be Andraste's Herald. I don't even believe in the human's Maker! So why would she attack me for something I don't even claim? She took so much from me. The last thing… the last thing I had…_

Tears rushed Zanneth all at once, overwhelming her and falling down her cheek, stinging some minor cut around her swollen eye before soaking into the pillow. She wept for Hyune, for Sinna, for the life she had lost. She wept for the beating and the pain. She wept for all she had done for these people, these filthy _shemlen_, and all the good it had done her when one single person's idea of how the world works was challenged.

Zanneth wept for the child she did not want, but that she did not want to lose.

Her tears carved a path down her cheek, further soaking her pillow. As she wept, they changed, a great sob being pulled from her as her grief transmuted into something deeper, darker. A dark flower of relief was revealed inside of her soul, and she recognized a painful truth. No lover would wish to lose the evidence of that love. No lover would breathe easier over the loss of her child, the last memory of its father.

No lover would want that, but Zanneth had been no lover.

She was a hunter, silent and swift within the forest. She provided, and did what was needed of her, but only to one soul had she ever felt the need to nurture, and now that soul – her brother – was dead. She had never truly _wanted_ marriage or children, but it was her duty to her clan, to eventually lay aside her bow for the infant suckling at her breast. She had never wanted these things, but had accepted it as her role, and now her tears burned her skin with her _shame_. She should not breathe easier with relief. She should not be _glad_ for the blood-soaked sheets that Cassandra had disposed of.

She should be distraught, but all she could feel was the profound lightness that had filled her when that burden had departed from her shoulders, on the razor's edge of pain and a rush of blood between her legs. This loss was not her fault, but it had happened, and she almost wanted to _thank_ her attacker. And that, she realized, made her a monster. A murderer in her mind, if not in her body or actions. She was unworthy of loving and being loved, for if she did not wish for love that created life, then she did not deserve to indulge in that sacrosanct emotion free of it.

Something in Zanneth was very wrong, broken even. She had love there for the taking, and could not muster the enthusiasm for more than a lukewarm acceptance.

She was so ashamed. As the sobs started, she could not hold them back, and her body was wracked with them, the first one escaping in a wretched cry. Her back spasmed, and pain shot through her poor, ravaged stomach at the convulsion pulled from her.

"What?"

Cassandra had awoken. Of course she had awoken. It was amazing she had slept through the weeping Zanneth had done. The elf could not respond, however, curling around the arm that had already tightened around her middle. She felt she might choke as a ragged wail fell from her lips, and her beaten stomach and chest made her wish for oblivion, and yet she could not stop the onslaught.

"Zanneth!"

Strong arms encircled her, and then the warrior's face was pressed to her hair, speaking into her ear.

"I've got you," she said, her breath warm as it rustled the elf's hair. "Loose your sorrow. It is best in these situations. Better than holding on to it and letting it consume you."

Zanneth turned, unable to speak, her body convulsing with her sobs. Cassandra gathered her up in her arms, allowing the elf's tears to soak through her tunic as they had soaked through her tabard the night before. Zanneth's fingers curled into the human's shirt, clinging desperately to the only thing, the only person, that seemed to hold any ounce of stability. She cried until she no longer could, at last relaxing in the human's arms, numb, wrung-out, and exhausted.

"Do you wish to speak of it?" Cassandra finally asked.

Zanneth shook her head. "Not yet," she croaked, her throat swollen and dry.

Cassandra merely nodded. "All right."

"I… could use some water," Zanneth ventured, and then her stomach gave out a mighty growl.

"And perhaps some food." Cassandra's voice was light. She shifted, and then Zanneth was alone beneath the blanket, curled up with her head on the pillow. She felt very small.

The Seeker was already on her feet. "I will go retrieve these things. Will you be all right alone for a little while?"

"Yes. I think… I could use the time to think."

Cassandra nodded, not saying anything further as she retrieved her jerkin and tabard and pulled on her boots. She then was gone, slipping through the door, hers and Bull's muffled voices reaching Zanneth's ears for a moment before silence descended.

Taking a deep breath, Zanneth tried to calm herself. But, left to her own devices, she soon curled around her pillow, losing herself to her tears once more.

* * *

Leliana looked up at Max's perked ears. There, stalking across the courtyard outside the Chantry, was Cassandra, murder written plainly on her face.

Turning to the agent she'd been speaking with, the spymaster said, "I apologize. There is something I must see to. Keep interviewing soldiers, and report to me any suspicious persons at noon."

"Aye, Sister Nightingale," he said, turning and jogging to the practice yard. Leliana left her makeshift office, telling Max to stay put with Filou and guard the tent. Bella stood, following her master to the Chantry.

Cassandra had already disappeared inside when Leliana got to the great double doors. Opening one and letting her eyes adjust to the dim, torch-lit interior, she finally saw Cassandra just as the Seeker disappeared through the door leading down to the dungeons. Worried, Leliana hurried after her. There was only one thing down there that would have Cassandra like this: the prisoner who had attacked the Herald.

She finally caught up to Cassandra halfway through the hall leading to the prison cells. Fast as lightning, she grabbed hold of Cassandra's tabard, stopping her and hauling her against the wall.

"What are you doing?" she asked without preamble.

Cassandra's eyes flashed in the low torchlight. "Let me go, Leliana."

"I will not," she responded, eyes narrowing. "You cannot simply murder her assailant."

"She… I…" The Right Hand's mouth worked a moment. Leliana cocked her head to the side, trying to figure out if the Seeker was forming words before deciding that she was not.

"I understand that this is upsetting, Cassandra, but you can't-"

"How did you know you were attracted to women?"

Leliana, for one of a handful of times in her life, had no response to that. "You… I… what?"

She let Cassandra go, immediately pulling her back up the hall to a small room, no bigger than a broom closet, grabbing a torch on her way. Once inside, she released her quarry, considering the taller woman in the dimness.

"Explain."

Cassandra looked doubtful. "I meant exactly what I said."

Leliana huffed, frustrated with the lack of explanation. "Marjolaine was the first person to ever bed me. I have been with men, also, but I strongly prefer women. There has only been one in the last decade. So I suppose experience is what taught me." She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you asking me this?"

Cassandra took a deep breath, looking away.

"Cassandra, look at me when you speak," Leliana snapped. She knew her tone was curt, but she had no patience for these games. Particularly from Cassandra, the most pragmatic, mature, and concise person she had ever met.

The Seeker's eyes snapped to Leliana's. "I am in love with her."

Leliana was taken aback. "You're _what_?!"

A sigh. "Last night, I stayed with her, and… I am in love with her, Leliana."

Leliana blinked for a moment before responding. "You bedded her?!"

"Wha- no! She was beaten and bloody! I merely had a lot of time to _think_."

"You are sure? Perhaps your protective nature is simply misdirected…"

"Please, Leliana. Grant me some credit. I am not some child who does not know her own heart. It has only been a couple of months, but I recognize what I see in myself. I have been trained to seek the truth. I would be a very poor Seeker if I could not see the truth in myself. They are the first of truths that we are taught to learn, the ones inside our own hearts and minds."

_Revka, Josephine, now Cassandra… there must be something in the water_, Leliana thought, utterly confused. Aloud she said, "If you are so sure, then why do you ask me how I knew I was attracted to women?"

"It is… new to me," Cassandra said after a moment, a slight scowl drawing her features together as her gaze drifted away. "I am inexperienced in these matters, and you are my friend. I do not…" She sighed, probably making a disgusted noise, and focused on Leliana once more. "What do you advise?"

Leliana pursed her lips in thought. She was amazed that such a strong person could be brought to such uncertainty by someone so small as the Herald. _Solona is a large, powerful being. One of a kind. And she was brought screeching to a standstill by me. Cassandra is no less unique, in her own way…_

"I think you should pursue it."

Cassandra looked taken aback. "I _should_?!"

"Yes," Leliana answered with a nod. "The world might come to an end. We all might perish tomorrow. We do not know what the future holds. The only thing you are sure of is this connection. I say you should act on it."

"But… she has lost so much. Surely I do not have a right…"

"What has she lost?"

Cassandra's mouth thinned into a flat line. "I will not gossip of things told me in confidence. Not even to you, Leliana."

The former bard rolled her eyes. "Well, if you will not tell me _why_ you are so reticent, then I can only tell you my experience. As you know, I found love in the unlikeliest of places. Solona is so much more than I ever would have found if I had set out _looking_ for love. Apart we are both forces to be reckoned with, but together… together we are unstoppable should we decide to pursue something. Some might argue that I make myself weaker by opening myself up to pain, but without her… I would not be human anymore, Cassandra. Yes, it would have been smarter to never develop feelings, but I cannot go back and undo that. You have the opportunity for love, here. It is also the opportunity for pain. But the feelings have developed already. It is what you will do about them now that they are here that truly matters.

"So what will it be?" Leliana continued, raising both brows up at Cassandra. "Will you see if love can grow between you? Or will you quash it now, choke it so it cannot grow and you cannot be hurt? Because those two extremes? They are the only choices allowed you in our hazardous profession. Love her with all your being, or crush it now before it consumes you."

Cassandra looked dubious. "I… shall think on your words."

Leliana nodded. "Fine. I have work to get to. But Cassandra… trust me when I say that taking revenge upon the prisoner will not make you feel better."

"Did it not make you feel better when you killed your former bardmaster?"

Leliana grinned, a mirthless thing that probably more resembled a grimace. "I took no pleasure in it. I felt safer, yes. Her gone from the world meant she could no longer poison it. But it did not take away the things she had done to me, and it did not undo the damage to my body and my spirit. Solona undid those things. Love undid those things, not vengeance. Remember that, Cassandra. Love is your answer. Love of the Maker, love of your friends, love of your little elf. You should go to her. I am sure she should not be alone right now, given all you say she has lost."

Cassandra looked even more confused than before, but she nodded, exiting the small room ahead of Leliana and turning back toward the Chantry, away from the dungeon. The Left Hand waited a moment, kneeling to scratch Bella's chin while she pondered her fellow servant of the Sunburst Throne.

"There _must_ be something in the water," she finally murmured, standing and heading aboveground once more.

* * *

It was three days before Zanneth was ready to face the village. Now she stood, pulling on her mother's hunting coat over her Inquisition tabard. Her face had healed, though there was still yellow and green bruising. The same was true of her ribs and stomach. She had spent the three days alternating between feeling numb and wanting to cry, sometimes actually crying, and eating and drinking her weight in meat and vegetables and dried fruit. Now it was time she face her attacker.

"You are _sure_ this is what you want?"

Her eyes snapped to Cassandra, standing by the door. "Yes. I… can't explain it, but it's important. I can't be… _afraid_. I need to confront this woman and _see_ that her face is not worn by every other human out there."

"We have confirmed that it was an isolated incident, that nobody else harbors such…" Cassandra trailed off at the look Zanneth gave her. "Yes, all right. I suppose it makes sense."

Zanneth's scowl melted into a small smile. "Why are you so protective of me, Cassandra?" It was honestly endearing, but she had no idea what she had done to warrant it.

Cassandra's cheeks darkened. "You… have been through so much. I know what it is like to lose everything. I would spare you further pain."

Zanneth nodded. She supposed it made sense. She and Cassandra were friends. Feeling protective over your friends was natural. Certainly, if something like this to happen to _Cassandra_, she would wish to put an arrow through the attacker's face.

"Well, I certainly do not mind you accompanying me. But I must face this. I cannot… I will not be able to focus on anything else until I do."

The Seeker nodded, not saying anything further as Zanneth finished readying herself. She was completely unprepared for what happened when the door opened and she stepped out into the frigid morning air, however.

"The Herald returns!"

"Andraste's Herald is healed!"

"Long live the Herald of Andraste!"

Zanneth stood, flabbergasted, in the doorway. Everyone gathered outside cheered, fists in the air, shouts rising above the din. Bull watched from just next to the door, her grinning sentinel.

"They love you, you know," the big qunari rumbled.

"Yes," Cassandra agreed, her voice coming from just behind the elf. "Clearly, Leliana was correct in her report. The attack only served to bring the others around more firmly in favor of _you_."

Zanneth did not know what to say. She was saved having to figure it out, however, when Bull turned to her. "Why don't we give them what they want, boss?"

"What?"

He smirked, extending his arm and giving her the tiniest shove toward the crowd. They swallowed her up, then hands were on her and she was hoisted onto two waiting shoulders, just as she had been after closing the rift on their way back from Val Royeaux. Somehow they knew where she was headed, and it was on the men's shoulders, with a cheering crowd surrounding her, that she was marched up to the Chantry.

She was placed on her feet at its steps, and the crowd began to disperse, commanders and overseers shouting for people to get back to work. Shaking herself and straightening her clothes, Zanneth stood dazed for a moment until she noticed Cassandra approaching with Bull.

"They really do love you," the warrior said, amused.

"I don't… I don't even know what to feel about that."

"It's all right. You'll have all the time in the world to process it and decide how to feel. Now why don't we keep our appointment with the prisoner?"

The elf nodded, turning and heading in to the Chantry.

* * *

Cassandra stood with Bull by the door as Zanneth approached the prisoner's cell. The woman had been well-provided for, with a chamber pot, water, and two meals a day. It was more than she deserved, but Cassandra could not fault Leliana and Cullen treating their prisoners well. It was what set them apart from everyone else. Besides that, she knew the woman was already sentenced to death – the only reason they held off was because Zanneth had requested this meeting first.

Zanneth knelt in front of the cell door, peering into its gloomy depths. "Hello," she said.

"Get away from me, knife-ear!" Threnn spat. Cassandra almost marched forward to backhand the stupid woman, but Bull's hand shot out, grabbing her shoulder.

"Let them talk. She clearly needs to face her attacker, and she'll never have the confidence she needs if you take care of every battle for her."

Cassandra pursed her lips, but nodded. Bull was right. Cassandra would not appreciate someone hovering over her like this. Zanneth was not in danger. She relaxed, moving back into place flanking the door.

"Why do you hate me so?" Zanneth was now saying, completely undeterred by Threnn's tone.

"I don't owe you an explanation, _elf_."

"Really? Because attacking me is what earned you your death. You seem to be the only one who feels the way you do about me. What did I do to earn such disdain?"

"You're everything wrong that's happened to this country," Threnn finally said, standing and walking up to the bars of her cell. Zanneth stood at nearly the same time, holding her ground as she held the soldier's gaze. "Don't know your place. None of them know your place, either. Andraste's Herald can't be a knife-ear! And you're one of them _painted_ ones, too! The Alienage elves at least worship the Maker. But you! You claim to be Andraste's Herald, and you probably don't even believe!"

"_I_ claim nothing," Zanneth said, her voice hard and low. "You never spoke to me. You never bothered hearing from me. You heard everyone else, made your decision, and attacked me. It is a good thing that not every human is as stupid as you."

Spittle hit Zanneth's face in answer. Bull and Cassandra both started forward at that, but the elf merely turned and waved them off.

"If that is what you insist on believing, I can't stop you," the Dalish huntress said, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and wiping her face. "I wish you swift journey to the noose, as that seems to be the only place you wish to go." She then turned, and marched through the dungeons, passing between Cassandra and Bull without a word. The two warriors exchanged looks before joining the Herald in returning aboveground.

* * *

Zanneth was surprised to see a whole array of people awaiting her return from the dungeons. Mother Giselle, Commander Rutherford, Ambassadors Montilyet and Amell, Sister Nightingale, Varric, Sera, Vivienne, and even the knight who had rescued her, Ser Cauthrien, stood arrayed in a semi circle as she emerged from below ground.

"Er… am I in trouble of some sort?" Zanneth asked.

Cullen chuckled in answer. "No, no, Herald. We simply wish to address a glaring oversight on our part."

"Oh?"

Cassandra was the one who continued, walking around Zanneth and going to stand with her compatriots. "We have expected you to close the Breach, to lead soldiers into battle against demons and reanimated corpses, but we have done nothing to prepare you for it. We send you out with men and women more experienced and more prepared than _you_, the one they look to for hope in this dark time." Standing a little taller, the Seeker said simply, "We aim to remedy that."

Zanneth was still unsure what they meant. "I'm not sure I follow…"

It was Sister Nightingale who clarified, after a small huff of disgust. "What your other advisors are trying so cryptically to suggest, Your Worship, is that while you are talented with a bow and no-doubt a hunter of great skill, you do not know how to fight. You must be able to defend yourself, and be confident in your abilities when faced with a rift. And to that end, we will help you and teach you all we know. We are of varied and variegated skill. By learning to fight each of us, you stand the greatest chance of victory in the trials to come."

Zanneth only hesitated a moment. "All right. That sounds like an excellent idea." What did she have to lose? _Nothing. I have nothing left to lose_.

A disturbance near the door drew the entire group's attention before anyone else could speak. The Iron Bull's lieutenant, Cremisius, came hurtling toward them, out of breath. Skidding to a halt, the man stood leaning on his knees, panting a moment, before he was able to speak.

"Begging your pardon, Your Worship," he gasped, his voice, even while short of breath, almost melodic. He looked like a man, acted like one, but there was a hint of… _something_ that Zanneth could hear that made her wonder. Perhaps she was imagining it?

"Report, Krem," Bull said, moving forward to address his lieutenant.

"Right, Chief. There's a woman… a mage…" He stood, taking a deep breath and plunging on. "Claims to lead the mage rebellion out of Orlais. She's here asking for an audience with the Herald."

"That would be Grand Enchanter Fiona," Cassandra mused, hand on her chin in thought.

"This… is good, right?" Zanneth asked, looking to Cassandra and Ambassador Montilyet, who stood near each other. "We needed to speak with either the rebel mages or the templars, yes?"

"It depends," the ambassador said, looking thoughtful.

"On?"

"What she says," the ambassador answered, turning to look to Leliana. "What do you think, Sister Nightingale?"

"I know Grand Enchanter Fiona. Let her in. Make her a guest of the Inquisition. It is our first chance at getting an audience with either the mages or the templars. We need to jump on it."

"Might I join this audience?" Vivienne asked, stepping forward. "Fiona and I were colleagues at Montsimmard. We did not agree on this rebellion, but I would be remiss in not offering my knowledge of the woman."

All eyes turned to Zanneth, startling the elf. "I… you want _me_ to decide?"

"It is _you_ she wishes to see, _Herald_," Leliana said, emphasizing Zanneth's title, loathe as the elf was to hear it.

Zanneth blinked a few times before answering, hesitant, uncertain, but taking her lead from the conversation around her. "Very well. I suppose we can at least talk, yes?"

"Right. I'll… just go get her, then," Krem said, turning and jogging from the Chantry.

"Come," Cassandra said, now at Zanneth's side once more. "We will tell you what we know of her before she gets here." They led her off to Ambassador Montilyet's and Amell's offices, already speaking of the vote that freed the Circles of Magi.

* * *

_A/N: And the plot moves forward! I changed this aspect because it made more sense to me, given what I'd done in Val Royeaux._

_Raven Sinead is the most awesome beta ever! And was responsible for large swaths of that first section with Zanneth. I hope that section laid rest anyone's fears of my not taking this miscarriage seriously. This is serious business, but I also know it does not hit every person the same. I know someone whose grief over her miscarriage was very pure - she wanted that child **so bad** and it was taken away from her by her own traitorous body. All she felt was grief, no other complicating emotions. This is not Zanneth's position, not by a long shot. She's grieving, but she's also so relieved to not be faced with birthing and raising that child. This experience and the rest will shape her, and her future actions, the fact that everything has been **ripped** away from her. And it starts here, with Threnn. She's also not done. Grief is a sneaky bastard. It hits you at the strangest, most inopportune times. I'm sure we're not done, though I refuse to linger on every one of her tears. Just assume she cries a lot when she's alone still, okay? Cool._

_Also, poor Leliana. Going through her own shit, and everyone comes to her. You'd think they'd know not to tell their secrets to the fucking spymaster..._


	17. An Invitation

_A/N: Some housekeeping before the chapter. First, I'm having surgery Monday, and I'll be home for a week, assuming everything goes well and no complications. I have no idea if I'll get any writing done during that time. I might try, but I definitely make no promises._

_Second. I made a facebook page! Username DC Seven: __facebook drummerchick7fanfiction. Add me if you like! For now the profile is public, but that may change if I start getting weird or creepy messages. Raven Sinead made one, too, username Raven Sinead._

_Third, and only marginally related to this chapter... this story is gay gay gay. So far I have one hetero couple planned, and that's it. And you've already seen them. Weirdly, it's the only smut I've written so far. That's for a reason - namely, none of the queers are fucking yet - but, you know. Still weird, for how gay this story is turning out. I hope it doesn't upset anyone. If it's weird or upsetting, then turn it into a thought experiment: this is what it looks like to gay people when they see the world and **most** people in it are straight. Though the true reason I did this is accidental. I'm just, like... **really** gay._

_Okay. I think that's all of it. Enjoy!_

* * *

_Chapter 17: An Invitation_

Josephine, as a member of the Imperial Court, but not the Divine's retinue, had never actually met the Grand Enchanter of the Circle at Montsimmard. She knew the woman's reputation, however. How could she not? Josephine Montilyet was not one to overlook the potential power _anyone_ held, even a mage in the Circle. And it was not as though the Orlesian Circle was as restrictive as those of other nations. Mages in Orlais could even live outside the Circle, provided they had permission and no record of misconduct. The person who led the mages of Orlais, people who could wield fire and ice as easily as Josephine could wield a quill and ink, was _not_ to be ignored.

Grand Enchanter Fiona was tall for an elf, though an elf she was. She was likely the most powerful elf within human society, both because she was a great magic user, and because she held a position of social power, as well. Add to that her history, shrouded in secrecy, of having been a Grey Warden and then having been sent _back_ to the Circle, and you had an entirely _formidable_ woman.

Why was she here? Why did she lead the mages in rebellion if her life was quite good, by the standards of most, elven and otherwise? Josephine detested not knowing the motive of those she faced. It left her in an entirely unfavorable bargaining position.

"Grand Enchanter Fiona, if I may introduce myself," Josephine said, giving a small curtsey, as befit their relatively equal stations in the Imperial Court – her only source of measurement of their stations. It grated her slightly that Fiona had no family name by which she could be addressed, but elves in Orlais did not have family names. Nonetheless, it felt _wrong_ to address anyone by their given name in her official capacity. "I am Ambassador Montilyet, chief diplomat of the Inquisition."

"Well met," Fiona said, mirroring Josephine's curtsey. "I have heard a great many things about you, Ambassador."

"All of them good, I hope?"

The elf's lips quirked up in a slight smirk. "Most of them." They shared a chuckle. "Truly, I hear you are a fierce but fair negotiator. I am hopeful there is no need for us to meet on the bargaining field any time soon."

Josephine feigned a demure posture. She knew she could be rather fierce in her negotiations. She was under no illusions as to her own skill or reputation. She had earned it as the leader of a merchant family, keeping her loved ones out of destitution. "I am sure there will be no need. If you will follow me, I will introduce you to my colleagues."

"And will the Herald of Andraste be with them?" Fiona asked, falling in step next to Josephine.

Josephine held back a smile. Not that she was about to do so, but knowing she held a bargaining chip – and therefore could withhold it – always put Josephine in a position of slightly more power. And by offering that chip freely, she would be seen as gracious rather than weak. And that, in and of itself, was a rather good position from which to bargain, should the need arise.

"Yes, Grand Enchanter. Andraste's Herald is eager to meet you."

The walk through the Chantry to her office was short. A guard opened the door for them, and Josephine's eyes immediately traveled to the Herald's face as she entered her own office. The Dalish elf looked immediately surprised when her eyes fell on Fiona. It took Josephine a moment to understand why, but a quick run-through of their brief conversation about the Conclave in her mind revealed a specific detail they failed to mention to the Herald – Fiona was an elf. Zanneth had no idea until just now.

"Leaders of the Inquisition, this is Grand Enchanter Fiona, recently of the Circle of Montsimmard." Josephine stood aside, waiting to continue as curtseys and small bows were exchanged. "Grand Enchanter, you already know my colleagues: First Enchanter Vivienne, Seeker Pentaghast, Sister Nightingale, Ambassador Amell, and the one you do not yet know is Lady Zanneth of the Lavellan clan, otherwise known as the Herald of Andraste."

"Well met," the grand enchanter intoned, though her eyes barely left Zanneth's face. It puzzled Josephine. Surely someone who rose so high within Orlesian society would know not to show everyone in the room what they so eagerly wanted?

"If we can all sit, I'm sure we can get this meeting underway," Josephine said, moving for the chair behind her desk.

"I would rather stand," Fiona said, finally taking on a shrewd expression.

Josephine cocked her head to the side. "You do not have much planned to say, then?"

"I wished to see the Inquisition for myself, and to extend an invitation for you to guest with us in Redcliffe."

"You come yourself?" Vivienne asked, brows furrowed. "And _alone_?"

"I would not endanger any of my people here," Fiona explained. "Your Inquisition is an unknown. It was started by a Seeker. She left when the order led the templars against us, it is true. But that does not mean we know her intentions towards _us_. The commander of your armies, small as that force is at the moment, is a former templar. While Sister Leliana is a supporter of our plight, getting to that conclusion requires some deduction." She paused, giving Vivienne an appraising look. "I would not endanger my people by bringing them here with me into the unknown."

"Our goal, Grand Enchanter, is to close the hole in the sky," Cassandra said, stepping forward. "We did not form to march on the rebel mages. We are not part of the Chantry. Indeed, we do not even have their permission. We are heretics in their eyes."

"But you would have been part of the Chantry, had fate allowed the Divine to declare the Inquisition, yes? Her intention was for an Exalted March to end the conflict between the mages and the templars, was it not?"

"This is true, but…"

Fiona lifted an eyebrow. "You can surely see why we would be so cautious, then?"

"If we might get back to your offer, Grand Enchanter," Josephine said, literally stepping into the circle of people that had formed between Fiona and everyone else. "It is quite generous of you, given what you've just said about our unknown intentions."

Fiona's gaze took a moment to travel back to Josephine from where it had settled upon the Herald, even as she began her answer. "Well, I would hate for the templars to get to you first."

"Excuse me?"

"You need a a great amount of power to close the Breach, yes? The templars caused the Breach. I would have _us_ be the ones who help you close it."

_Ah. There it is. There is the true motive_, Josephine thought to herself. _Fiona wishes the mages to be the ones who help us in our task. More than that, she wishes to be __**known**__ as the ones who helped us accomplish our goal_.

"You think the templars did this?" Cassandra was incredulous.

"I received a report on what Lucius said in Val Royeaux, Seeker. He was hardly broken up over his losses. Given his ravings, do you not think he would happily kill the Divine to turn the populace against us? So yes, I think he did it." She turned to the Herald as she continued. "More than I think _you_ did it, at any rate."

_If she thinks the templars caused the Breach, then no wonder she wishes to be part of the solution_, Josie thought. _But why this fixation on the Herald?_

"The Herald is no longer under suspicion," Cassandra said, her tone flat. "She is, in fact, our only hope in solving our most immediate problem: closing the Breach."

"Yes, so I have heard…" Fiona said, eyes flicking to the dull glow emanating from Zanneth's left hand. Fiona's interest in the Dalish elf and the mark made Josephine uneasy. What was the root of her interest? Was it that they were both elves? Was it the curiosity of the _vallaslin_ upon the Herald's face?

"Forgive me," Zanneth finally spoke, her voice quiet but strong. "But why would the templars kill the Divine? What did she have to do with their order leaving the Chantry? I thought their disagreement was with the Circles?"

Josephine almost grimaced at the open admittance of the elf's ignorance. She watched as Leliana's mouth was drawn into a flat line and Vivienne's face became utterly neutral. Revka shook her head, unseen by Fiona. Only Cassandra looked perplexed, turning to address the Dalish elf.

"I will explain to you later, Herald. For now, we should get back to Fiona's proposal."

Fiona's eyes had lit with Zanneth's ignorance. It was very worrisome to Josephine.

"Yes, my proposal," Fiona said, eyes boring into Zanneth. "Come to Redcliffe. Speak with the mages there. I am sure we can come to an accord over what happened and why, and we can come to an agreement over the power you need to seal the Breach."

"All right," Zanneth agreed. "I would be grateful to meet with the mages so as to accomplish our goal."

Josephine rushed forward then, offering Fiona refreshments and ushering her out of the ambassadorial offices. She needed to divert Fiona and get her away from the Herald as soon as possible. The woman was far too interested in Zanneth,, who was altogether ignorant of the current conflict, and of the Great Game, which Fiona was clearly playing, though far too boldly. No, they should not speak again, not until the elf could be schooled in the game that was truly being played.

* * *

Zanneth ducked. Her foot slipped, and she fell to the ground. She hadn't felt this uncoordinated since she started growing breasts as a girl.

She was not truly uncoordinated, however. When she crumpled to the ground, she merely rolled, coming back to her feet and immediately backing up, putting distance between herself and her opponent.

Her opponent… Zanneth had not expected Sister Nightingale to do any fighting herself. She was, in fact, so surprised she had actually laughed at the suggestion that the deaf woman would be helping to train her. That had been the first time she had hit the ground that day. The first of many.

She did notice how Leliana did not move in and take advantage of the elf being on the ground. The human allowed Zanneth her distance. She was not entirely sure why, but she took it.

There were only a few people in the room besides the two fighting. The Iron Bull, Cassandra, and Bull's lieutenant, Krem, stood outside the practice ring, circling slowly as they all watched Zanneth's performance. They trained in the barn next to the blacksmith's forge, the windows now thrown open for ventilation despite the frosty air. Nobody knew they were here, as evidenced by the fact that there were _not_ currently a million faces at each of the windows, watching Zanneth flounder.

Leliana began to move forward again. She wore tight black hose and a loose-fitting shirt of homespun material, though Zanneth noticed as they circled that the sleeves were tight on her forearms until midway to her elbow, thus not getting caught up in her weapons. Zanneth had been given a similar outfit for sparring. She wondered suddenly if the clothing actually belonged to Sister Nightingale. The human wore no cowl, a rare thing, her long red hair pulled back in an intricate braid so as not to get in her way.

In her right hand, Zanneth held the dull, heavy wooden version of a gladius, as she had been told the style of weapon was named. The blade was not quite two feet long and rather plain, even the steel version, but it was designed to perform all manner of basic sword moves and required no special skill or finesse, and was not fragile. It was the first sword any fighter learned to use, and it was often the preferred weapon of many even years into their fighting careers, though Zanneth had noted that Cassandra's swords were each quite a bit longer than the one she had been given.

It was the perfect weapon for Zanneth to carry into battle, though she was secretly hoping it would be a lot longer before she would be forced to pull the thing. This sparring session was making it painfully obvious that it would be weeks, at least, before she had any true proficiency in close-quarters combat. Until then, she would need to glue herself to Cassandra's side if they came across any more Fade-rifts. The most she was able to do at this point was follow the point of her opponent's sword and avoid it. The concept of using her own sword to block or attack was out of the question so far.

Nobody seemed concerned. In fact, both Krem and Bull had told her that footwork was just as important – more so, even – as swordwork, and as it needed to be second-nature, learning it first was not a bad way to go. But holding the sword while she did so was equally as important.

Leliana suddenly lunged forward, sending Zanneth skipping backward. Thankfully, she kept her feet this time. The quickest glance back told her she was within feet of Cassandra. Knowing she was running out of room, Zanneth struck out, her first offensive move of the afternoon, intended to give her a little breathing room. Leliana was unfazed, however, batting the elf's sword away with one of her practice blades – shorter than Zanneth's, but not so short as a dagger – and immediately stabbing with the other. The dull point struck the Herald in her already-sore ribs, and she went down with an "oof" of discomfort.

The redhead was above her immediately, a smirk pulling at her lips. Taking her weapons in one hand, Leliana held out her other in an offer to help Zanneth up. Zanneth nodded, taking the hand…

And finding herself heaved over Leliana's shoulder and deposited on the ground once more.

A chorus of chuckling laughter met her ears as she shook her head clear.

"Do not worry, Your Worship," the redhead almost sing-songed. "You will learn, as many others have, that you should not accept a helping hand from anyone you do not trust."

Zanneth heard the pound of a heavy boot upon the floor and felt a vibration ripple through the ground below her. She glanced up at Leliana to see the spymaster's attention diverted by the vibration of the floorboards, and realized that such an action would be an excellent tactic to divert the deaf woman's concentration – and avoiding such vibrations would be an excellent way to claim the upper hand.

"We are only teaching one kind of lesson here today, Leliana," Cassandra's voice rang out, and Zanneth turned from her place on the floor to see the Seeker approaching.

"_Life_ is a lesson, Cassandra," the Left Hand said, and her voice was hard where it had been teasing before. "We do not have the time to coddle her and teach her lessons one at a time." She seemed about to say something more, but then the redhead's eyes snapped to Zanneth and her mouth slammed shut. She turned, calling the big mabari named Bella to her, and went to the corner to stow her practice weapons.

Zanneth accepted Cassandra's help up, thinking on Leliana's words but deciding that, of all the people here, Cassandra she could trust not to dump her back upon the ground.

"You are all right?"

"Yes." Zanneth nodded, letting her sword dangle in her hand. "Just tired. How long did we go?"

"About an hour," Bull rumbled, coming over with Krem.

"Only an hour? It felt like at least three…"

Krem and Bull harmonized in raucous laughter. Even Cassandra smiled. "Relax. It was only your first time at this. It will get easier, and your stamina will improve."

"But… I can be out on the hunt for hours, days if need-be…"

"It's a different skill, Your Worship," Krem said, his musical voice pleasant after an hour of hearing only leather boots scuffling over plank floor and hay, and the sound of her own body hitting the floor. "When you're hunting you must have a great deal of patience. While patience is a necessary virtue in combat, it's not the same. You have to be ever-vigilant for an opening and then jump on it when you see it. It's short patience, if you will. Hunting is hours of no activity, or at most stealthy walking. It's taxing in its own way, but entirely different from the frenetic activity of battle."

"Damn, you're wordy today, Krem," Bull said, slapping the human man on the shoulder. Zanneth winced in sympathy. "That was a long way to say 'you didn't stop moving and you were in danger of getting hit, so yeah, you're tired.'"

Zanneth smiled. She was getting a feel for how everyone interacted. With Bull and Krem, it was almost entirely teasing. "I actually don't mind the lengthy explanation. It makes a great deal of sense. Thank you, Krem."

The man's smile widened. "Not a problem, Your Worship."

"Come," Cassandra said, retrieving her cloak from the stand by the door. "We can have another sparring session this afternoon. For now, we should feed you and let you rest."

They left amidst talk of breakfast, Zanneth listening with a smile. Smiles seemed to come more easily these days. She knew she should feel guilty for that, but while she often had moments of grief alone in her cabin, it felt so _good_ to feel even a little bit good that she couldn't muster the discipline to feel guilt over it. Maybe she was healing? Only time would tell.

* * *

"Have you seen Grand Enchanter Fiona?"

Revka looked up from her desk to see Cassandra entering her office. It was early morning. Josephine had not even yet joined her. But Revka's morning sickness was particularly bad the past few days, and it made sleeping difficult. Rather than toss and turn and make Cullen lose sleep, as well, she had simply gotten up and gone to work. She would merely have to turn in early that night.

"I have not seen her since yesterday," Revka told her.

The Seeker furrowed her brows. "She is not in the quarters we gave her, and she is not breaking her fast at the tavern."

Now Revka's curiosity was piqued. "Where could she possibly be?"

It didn't take long to find that the sentry from the night before had reported before going off to bed that Fiona had left in the night.

"_Why_ did no one inform us?! Why didn't anyone _stop her_?!" Cassandra was in a state. Revka could almost swear she saw steam coming from the Seeker's ears.

"I- I- She was a guest of the Inquisition! She could come and go as she pleased!" The lieutenant Cassandra currently towered over - despite being shorter than the man by a few inches - held his hands up and cowered before the Seeker. Revka felt for him. _She_ would not wish to be the subject of Cassandra Pentaghast's ire.

"And did it not occur to you that we would wish to know when our guest - the _leader of the mage rebellion in Orlais_ \- came and went?"

The man visibly swallowed. "I- I was going to report to Commander Rutherford when he awoke, Seeker…"

Cassandra gave up in disgust, turning and stalking away.

"M- my Lady Rutherford-"

Revka held up her hand. "Please, lieutenant. As strange as I know it is, I have retained my name from before my marriage."

"Y- yes, ma'am. Lady Amell." He nodded to her and turned, heading back to the tavern and the meal they had pulled him away from.

Revka looked around. Cullen might just be getting up now. Cassandra would be speaking with Leliana. Josephine would just be emerging from her cabin.

Whom should she see first?

The choice was made for her, by a rather tall, dark-haired warrior with a monstrous sword strapped to her back. "Lady Amell," Ser Cauthrien greeted, not stopping her walk toward the practice fields outside the village.

"Ser Cauthrien," Revka acknowledged, tipping her head. "A fine morning."

"Indeed," the knight said, slowing her march at Revka's clear invitation for a conversation. "I would not expect such a fine lady to be appreciating it so early."

Revka smiled. "I had trouble sleeping. Rather than rob the commander of his sleep, as well, I decided to go to my work earlier than usual today. I watched the sun rise from the Chantry steps. Quite a sight, I must say."

"The sunrise is beautiful, it is true. Especially over snow-capped mountaintops."

"It is a sight I hope not to become intimately acquainted with." Revka's tone was rueful. She shook her head, smiling self-deprecatingly. "In any event, I wanted to let you know, because I know soldiers are not always forthcoming. My husband speaks quite highly of you." Just saying those words - "my husband" - were strange. It still made her giddy.

"He does?" Cauthrien's surprise seemed genuine.

"Yes. He has said that you continue to prove your ability time and again. I would expect nothing less from a knight of the king's court."

"You flatter me, Lady Amell."

Revka smiled, but pressed on. She had a point. "I would expect such a woman - knighted twice by two different king's courts - to comport herself with such honor in all matters of her life." She paused, seeing if the knight understood. When Cauthrien's expression remained politely interested, Revka pushed a little further. "Including in those she courts."

Realization dawned upon Cauthrien's face. "Ah. I see. I have no intention of treating anyone poorly, if that is what you are getting at?"

Revka bowed her head. "Consider it a friend's prerogative." Before she turned to head to her cabin to meet Cullen, she added, "And Ser Cauthrien? Expect a much less… _gentle_ discussion with Leliana. As I am sure you know, she is very protective of those she calls friend."

The knight's smile was small, but genuine. "I would expect nothing less from her."

Revka nodded. "Good day, Ser Cauthrien."

"Good day, Lady Amell."

* * *

Josephine looked up from her clipboard. "We know how to approach the mages."

Somehow the woman was able to hold the thing with a candle stuck to it and not spill wax over everything. Leliana always wondered how. Perhaps it was beeswax? That burned cleanly, didn't leave trails of wax. It was also brighter than traditional wax. That would make sense.

"Have we any lead on the templars?" the ambassador continued.

Leliana roused herself from her thoughts on Josephine's choice in candles. "I have managed that much, yes. They have taken refuge in Therinfall Redoubt. Though approaching them at this juncture… proves problematic, given the Lord Seeker's reaction in Val Royeaux."

"We _must_ look into it," Cullen said, fixing her with furrowed brows. "I'm certain that not everyone in the order will support him."

"Or the Herald could simply go to Redcliffe, as she has been _invited_ to do," Josephine countered.

Cullen scoffed. "You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse!"

"You need to leave your distrust of mages behind, Cullen," Leliana said, recalling his attention. "Mages come by their distrust of the Order of Templars honestly." She held up her hand as his mouth opened to argue. "And mages have earned their fearsome reputations honestly. I have not forgotten the Circle, Cullen. But surely you have not forgotten that it was a mage from that very Circle who saved us all from the Blight? The world is more complex than one group being in the right and one group being in the wrong."

_Maker knows we all have dark and light in us. Lately it feels as though I only have darkness. My light is missing. Maker, please, return her to me. She is the only thing keeping me feeling human any longer. That feeling… is slowly slipping through my fingers._

"The only thing that gives me pause was Fiona's intense interest in the Herald," Josephine said, picking up the lost thread of the original discussion. "And now she has gone in the night, and we have no means of further questioning or observing her."

"The sentry has been seen to," Cullen said. "And our men and women are being briefed on the importance of treating anyone not vetted by the Inquisition with a healthy measure of suspicion."

The Herald, Zanneth, stood, her face impassive. She seemed to watch Cullen and Leliana quite intently as they spoke of mages and templars, but now she merely let her eyes trail to whomever was speaking. Leliana wondered what she thought of all of this. It was not her fight, not originally. But now they could not help but thrust the fight upon her.

"So we have an invitation from the rebel mages. We know where the templars are, but have no way to approach them. And there is a giant tear in the sky that has stopped growing but which threatens us further each day it remains." The speaker, Cauthrien, unexpectedly included in this meeting, folded her arms over her chest. "Forgive me if there is something I do not see, but I think we should take the invitation we have. We _know_ the mages have the power we need. We are uncertain as to whether the templars can help, and unsure of how to approach them even if they can. The choice seems clear to me."

"I agree," Cassandra said. "Though I warn caution in this. Fiona was far too interested in the Herald, and forgive me for saying so, Zanneth, but you are far too naïve in these matters to send alone into negotiations."

"It is becoming clearer and clearer to me that I am woefully ignorant of these issues," the Herald finally spoke, nodding in agreement as she faced Cassandra. "I had not even noticed her interest was so strange."

"You can hardly be faulted for that," Leliana said. "You have been the subject of more than your fair share of scrutiny here in Haven. It was the particular _way_ she was staring at you, and the way her expression changed. And the obvious delight when your ignorance of the issues was brought to light. It does not match with the woman we knew in Val Royeaux."

"So what is our decision, then?" Cullen crossed his arms over his chest, just enough of his arm left to hook the other in the crook of his elbow.

Everyone looked to the Herald.

Zanneth sighed. "I… agree with Ser Cauthrien. It is at least a known threat, this invitation. We know Fiona awaits us. We know not what awaits us among the templars."

Cullen visibly tensed, but he made no other move of dissent. Leliana experienced a momentary pang of sympathy for the man. Here he was, brought into adulthood by the Templar Order, believing so fervently in what he was taught for so long, only to have that faith betrayed by his commander. Meredith had literally taken a piece of him with her. Leliana knew that kind of betrayal, though hers was more personal, a betrayal of her _love,_ not just her respect and trust. Funny, that the Amell sisters could heal such wounds with their love and affection. Cullen and Leliana had more in common than she had realized.

As the meeting disbanded, Leliana took her chance for a private audience with two people she had been meaning to speak with. "Lady Herald? Ser Cauthrien? If I might have a word with each of you?"

They both looked up, changing their course and coming close. Leliana did not miss how Cassandra and Josephine both waited at the door to the Chantry, far out of earshot.

Taking the Herald aside first, Leliana got right to the point. "While you are in the Hinterlands, I was hoping you could keep an eye out for something."

"What is the matter?"

"Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden fell out of communication. I am familiar with the Warden-Commander; it is very strange he would simply stop sending messages. I sent word to the Orlesian Order, but they, too, have disappeared." The timing, Leliana knew, was not a coincidence. Oghren's communication had stopped around the same time Solona's had, despite Solona no longer being part of the order. "Ordinarily I wouldn't even consider their involvement, but the timing is… curious."

_I cannot tell her of Solona. Let her learn of the Hero of Ferelden from the lips of another. To have a personal stake in this…_

"What did you need me to do while in the Hinterlands?" the Herald asked.

"The others have… disregarded my suspicions." That was not true. Leliana had mentioned nothing to anyone, for it would simply look as though she was only interested in Solona. But it was more than that. Ferelden's Grey Wardens were newly restored. They could not afford to lose them so soon, or the order might never again exist in this part of Thedas again. It already had a reputation for being a cursed prospect. Disappearing again would ensure they never buil back up again. "I cannot ignore it. Two days ago, I received reports of a lone Grey Warden, Ser Blackwall, spotted in the smaller villages in the Hinterlands. If you have the opportunity… please seek news of him. Perhaps he can put my mind at ease."

The elf nodded. "We can see what there is to find. If he can't put your mind at ease, though?"

Leliana pursed her lips for a moment, thinking. "Then there may be more going on than I thought. The web of those involved… might be infinitely more complicated with the Grey Wardens' involvement."

"Well, I will see what can be found out. I agree, it would be… upsetting, given that wardens are supposed to guard against the Blight."

"Thank you, Your Worship," Leliana said, not failing to notice the elf's face pinching slightly at the title. She would have to learn to live with it, however. They needed her to be something more than a little Dalish hunter.

The Herald left, and Cauthrien took her place. "Yes, Lady Leliana?"

_How to tread delicately…_ "I have noticed you have paid Lady Montilyet quite a number of compliments."

Cauthrien's fair cheeks immediately reddened. "I… enjoy the ambassador's company."

"I see," Leliana said, pursing her lips. "Tell me, does she know of our history?"

"She knows we knew each other in the King's Court…"

"And what of before that?" Leliana watched as Cauthrien's eyes flicked to the door, where Josephine was speaking with the Herald and Cassandra. "Does she know how we met? The things you said about me? Does she know how you turned myself and your king over to Loghain for torture?"

Cauthrien's eyes snapped back to Leliana's face. Leliana had clearly struck a nerve, and the knight's anger had flared, but deep within those dark eyes, the spymaster also saw shame, guilt. "No. She does not."

"I see."

"Are you going to tell her?"

Leliana considered the woman before her. Ought she to be held responsible for the mistakes of her younger self? Cauthrien had already repented and been forgiven by Alistair. She and Leliana had been friendly at court, once the woman's knighthood had been restored. But Leliana was not stupid. She knew what Cauthrien was capable of. The woman may never go there again, but she _had, _and Leliana knew.

And she refused to let Cauthrien think she had forgotten.

"I will leave that to _you_. But if your feelings are not genuine, do her the favor of leaving her alone. And if they are, then court her like the chivalrous knight you are. I did not invite her to join the Inquisition to be… _toyed_ with. Josephine is no stranger to courtly intrigue, despite the prim and proper veneer she presents. But love? She is… innocent in such matters. It is the way of the Game, to teach one so thoroughly and to discourage the other."

Cauthrien remained silent.

"And if you hurt her," Leliana continued, eyes narrowing, "know that I look after my friends. And I would not hesitate to gut the person who treads upon her heart."

"I shall take that under advisement," the knight finally responded, her teeth gritted and her lips nearly white from the thin line they'd been pressed into.

"Good day, Ser Cauthrien," Leliana said, not interested in salvaging the woman's good humor. The point was to upset her, to get her thinking. Leliana had accomplished that goal.

"Good day, spymaster," Cauthrien responded, turning and almost stomping away, walking right by Josephine and through the door. Josephine turned to look at Leliana, giving her a quizzical look before exiting, likely chasing after her suitor. Let them talk. That was Leliana's other goal. Otherwise, they would carry on exchanging pleasantries and nothing else. Perhaps eventually one of them would have addressed their feelings, but Leliana was quite sure she had done them a favor by forcing the issue.

Besides. The sooner they bedded each other, the better, in Leliana's opinion. If anyone needed to let their hair down, it was those two.

Ignoring Cassandra and Zanneth's questioning looks, Leliana glided smoothly out the doors, joining her hounds at her makeshift office once more.


	18. Confessions

_A/N: A surprise update before my surgery! My muse decided to squeeze one more out before I am high on pain meds. A little romance-candy to brighten your day. You're welcome!_

_Also, thank you, Raven Sinead, for hustling on this._

* * *

_Chapter 18: Confessions_

"Ser Cauthrien!" Josephine called out, hoping to stall the knight's angered march. Leliana had said something to the poor woman, something which had clearly upset Cauthrien quite a lot.

At her name, the knight slowed, unable to ignore a lady. The ingrained chivalry of the warrior nearly made Josephine's knees weak, but the ambassador forced her feet to keep moving.

"My Lady." Cauthrien's tone was stiff, curt, gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Leliana said something upsetting? What is amiss? Does it involve the Herald?"

Cauthrien stood, tense for a moment, gaze smoldering. But when their eyes met, the knight relaxed a little, her head finally hanging. "I… this is not a conversation to have where ears might pry, my Lady."

"Oh! Of course. I… my cabin is not far…" Josephine was immediately mortified. It was scandalous to suggest they use her personal cabin! But the suggestion had already left her lips, and Cauthrien was already nodding, waiting expectantly to be led to the ambassador's cabin. Inwardly cursing herself, Josephine led the way, knowing she imagined all the prying eyes she could feel on her skin and feeling no better for that knowledge.

What option did she have? Her office was shared. Her cabin was literally the only place she could expect privacy. Even the baths were public. Thought of the public baths, herself and the knight naked and bathing together, brought more heat to Josephine's cheeks.

Fighting not to peer around like a child before stealing from the jar of sweets, Josephine reached for the door, stepping inside and closing it behind Ser Cauthrien. "Now, please. Why are you so upset?" she asked.

Cauthrien still looked like she had attempted to swallow something that would not sit still. "I… admit I am unsure where to begin."

"Is it something to do with the Herald? I'm confused. Surely I would already know of whatever this is?"

The knight shook her head. "No. I apologize, my Lady, but it was… a personal matter."

"Oh!" Josephine was embarrassed. All this and it turned out she was prying into a personal affair. "I apologize, I shouldn't have pried…"

She trailed off as Cauthrien moved closer, filling her vision. Josephine's heart suddenly thundered in her ears, valiantly attempting escape through her ribcage. She found her hand snatched up, felt Cauthrien's warm, calloused fingertips caressing the back of her hand. She was drawn forward until an arm snaked around her waist. She raised her arms on instinct, wrapping them around strong, broad shoulders as she was enfolded in the taller knight's embrace.

Josephine closed her eyes, relying on her other senses. Her nose filled with scents of leather, wool, and steel, a musky, _human_ scent underlying it all, sending her heart spiraling out of control. Lips, slightly chapped but also soft, yielding, covered her own, sweet-smelling breath washing over her face. They both inhaled sharply, Cauthrien's arms tightening around her waist, pulling her flush against the warrior's leathers.

Josephine let out a small whimper. She wasn't sure she would be able to support herself were the knight's presence to suddenly disappear. She ventured out with her tongue, sweeping it along Cauthrien's bottom lip, wetting the wind-chapped skin. Her knees went weak at the knight's purr, deep in her throat.

When Cauthrien ended the kiss, Josephine's hands moved to the back of the knight's head almost without thought, her fingers feeling the smooth braid that fell down her back. "Please, don't stop just yet," she whispered, eyes open and pleading. Not yet. Not now. It had been so long, and never with a true suitor…

"My Lady Josephine," Cauthrien said, her voice low and husky. "Please forgive my forwardness, but I have wished to do that for weeks now. I hope…"

"It is fine. It is welcome. Please. I… do not wish to stop," Josephine said, knowing she was practically begging, but not caring. It had been so long since someone had held her so, and never without her machinations, her whispered words and seductive poses, being the cause. It had been years since Josephine had played the bard, but still her encounters were all courtly intrigue.

But Cauthrien was not doing as she wished. In fact, the knight's hold was loosening, and then Josephine was deprived of her warmth, her closeness, her indomitable presence. The space around her suddenly felt… _empty_.

"I would pay court to you, Lady Josephine," Cauthrien began, stepping away.

"I… would very much like that," Josephine confessed, taking a small step forward. But Cauthrien did not take her outstretched hand. To say it was puzzling behavior was a dramatic understatement.

"Before you say that, there is something you should know." Cauthrien took a deep breath, closing her eyes and opening them after gathering herself. "You know that Lady Leliana and I knew each other in King Alistair's court, yes?"

"Yes…" Josie said, uncertain. What information was about to be imparted?

The knight sighed. "We met during the Blight. She… I was loyal to Loghain Mac Tir at the time. I had not quite been convinced of his madness. I apprehended her and Alistair Theirin while they raided the Arl of Denerim's estate. There were a great many things I did not know about Arl Howe's behavior. I trusted Teyrn Loghain's judgment, and distrusted Orlais as much as he – I grew up without parents because of Orlesian occupation. So when an Orlesian accent fell from the lips of one of the Grey Wardens' companions… I jumped at the chance to give Loghain a possible source of information. I _believed_ his lies that Orlais wished to invade, and here was an Orlesian spy who could be pressed for information."

Josephine, brows furrowing further and further with Cauthrien's explanation, finally held up her hand. "I am sorry, Ser Cauthrien, but I am utterly confused. Please. Sit. Start over. I promise to listen." The ambassador's heartbeat had returned to normal. Obviously, this was important. Cauthrien and Leliana had a troubled past. Josephine felt sure that, by the end, it would be clear just how it was connected to herself and Cauthrien courting each other.

The knight nodded, unbuckling her mighty sword and leaning it against the wall before taking the offered chair. With no other options, Josephine sat on the edge of her bed. "Now. Please. What were you trying to tell me?"

Cauthrien took a deep breath before beginning. "I met Teyrn Loghain as a young woman, working on my uncle's farm. I helped him fight off bandits, and in return, he taught me to wield a weapon. I worked through the ranks, and by the time of the Fifth Blight, I had been his right hand for a number of years. I led Maric's Shield, in the service of King Cailan. When Loghain called the retreat at Ostagar… I followed orders. I had no reason to doubt him. He was a war hero and my commander, and he had always been right about his decisions before that. So I followed orders." She paused, making a disgusted noise. "I may as well have gutted the king myself."

A surge of sympathy prompted Josephine to speak. "Surely a soldier is supposed to follow the orders she is given?"

"Bad orders are bad orders. I had a choice. I would have been branded a traitor, but I would have kept my honor. Instead, I decided to trust my commander. Look at Commander Rutherford, and tell me how trusting one's commander went for _him_."

Josephine was silent. She had no idea what to say.

Leaning forward, Cauthrien continued, scrubbing a hand over her face. "I ignored my gut telling me Loghain was wrong, and we went back to Denerim, leaving the field at Ostagar a bloody mess. Obviously, King Alistair and the former Warden-Commander Amell survived. We met at Arl Eamon's estate in Redcliffe before the Landsmeet. By that point it was very difficult to ignore my gut. I had… _such_ doubts. But when we heard Leliana's accent, and Loghain's temper flared, I thought there could be some truth to his assertions."

"What happened? You mentioned capturing her and the king…"

"They raided the Arl of Denerim's estate. A bloodied kingsguard came stumbling into the royal palace and told me of what was amiss there. I went, a full company with me, to apprehend the wardens. Only one was there, but the Orlesian…" Cauthrien paused, looking ill.

"Cauthrien?"

"I called her all manner of unpleasant things. I will not repeat them. I apprehended Alistair and Leliana and turned them over to Loghain, hoping that it would ease my churning gut and provide information to my commander. Instead I felt worse. Later, I learned just how badly he had tortured them both. He had never tortured anyone before! The most he might do was deny meals and backhand someone at their impertinence! I was so ashamed. But still I could not abandon my loyalty just yet. I confronted Alistair and Solona at the entrance to the Landsmeet. Pleaded that they abandon their venture. But I could hold on to my blind loyalty no longer. I crumpled, let them pass; admitted my doubts."

Cauthrien looked up finally, a small look of wonder on her face. "It was so freeing. Once I confessed my doubts, it was like blinders had been removed from my eyes. I saw my commander in a new light. And he was mad. It was a good thing, when Alistair was forced to execute him. Had he not gone so mad, perhaps he could have still been useful to his nation. As it was…"

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Josephine was unsure of what to say, and Cauthrien seemed to have talked herself out. Finally, as Cauthrien got to her feet, reaching for her weapon and murmuring "I will trouble you no further," Josephine urged herself into action.

"Wait!" she said, reaching for Cauthrien's hand and stilling her movement. The warrior's palm was rough, but oh so warm. Josephine's, by comparison, was icy. She always seemed to be cold in this place, even with a cloak, even with her fire roaring. She had neither at the moment.

Keeping hold of those hands, Josephine looked up into the knight's face. "Thank you for telling me all that. But… I confess, I am not sure why you did."

"If I am to court you… if you still wish me to…

Josephine nodded fervently.

"...then there should be no secrets between us," Cauthrien continued. "I do not court you lightly, my Lady. But you should know of what I am capable. I have redeemed myself in the eyes of my king. Leliana has forgiven me, though she made it painfully obvious this day that she has _not_ forgotten. And how could she? I have not forgotten. It is my deepest shame. Your friend… she is quite possibly the most resilient person I know. She was tortured for information she did not have – twice! – and still she retains the ability to love, to befriend, and to save a helpless little kitten out in the snow."

Josephine smiled, chuckling. Cauthrien, too, smiled, and the tension between them seemed to crumble. Chancing impropriety, Josephine pushed up onto the balls of her feet, their lips meeting while laughter still passed between them. The kiss, while every bit as breathtaking as the first, was lighter. Josephine could feel Cauthrien's smile. The knight did not attempt to pull the ambassador close this time, leaving space between them in which to move. Josephine suspected Cauthrien herself felt lighter, with her confession no longer weighing her down.

They parted, Cauthrien's hand lifting to Josephine's cheek, pushing a curled lock of hair back so she could caress it. "I just… wanted you to know my darkness. I never intend to go there again. I never intend blind loyalty again. But I have done so, and you… You should know, if you wish to become involved with me."

Josephine's heart fluttered. "You… are not the only one with secrets, Ser Cauthrien."

"Please. Josephine. If we can kiss, then surely we can be on a first-name basis, at least in private?"

Inexplicably, Josephine's cheeks heated, but she smiled, nodding. "Yes, all right. Aisling…" She released the knight's hand, backing away and beginning to pace. "I, too, met Leliana and Solona under… well, 'not ideal circumstances' is far too much an understatement."

Ser Cauthrien moved for her, a hand landing lightly on her shoulder. "Josephine?"

"I tried to kill her." The ambassador covered her mouth, almost embarrassed at how she had blurted it out.

To her credit, Cauthrien – _Aisling, I must think of her as Aisling_ – did not flinch. Her hand remained steady, its heat felt through the layers over Josephine's shoulder. A kind smile graced her lips. "Why don't you start at the beginning, as you suggested with me?"

"All right," Josie said with a nod. She took a deep breath, steeling herself under those unwavering brown eyes. "It was not long after the Blight was ended. I was so young… Leliana and Solona were visiting the small Chantry in Valence, where Justinia was Revered Mother before beginning her tenure as Divine. I was a bard." Josephine scoffed. "A child playing at spy. I could fight well, I could remain silent, I could observe for hours without growing bored. When I was given a target to assassinate, I… did not cherish the idea, but I knew it was part of being a bard. So I went. Never in my life would I expect what I found there…"

* * *

_The shadows are her friend, but Josephine cannot stay in them. Perhaps the shadows of Val Royeaux. But this is not Val Royeaux. This is a tiny country Chantry in Valence, a border province on the Waking Sea. There are no shadows, no anonymity in which to hide. So she dresses the part of a country peasant: homespun dress, ill-fitting corset, simply-done hair. She blends in plain sight and moves close to her quarry._

_They are easy to spot. The Grey Warden is dark, of Rivaini heritage, not uncommon - Josephine herself bears the proof of a grandparent from Rivain - but her bright-white hair and the strange tattoo upon her face give her away. As does her short, pale-skinned, redheaded companion. They are in travel clothes, having just come in off the road. Josephine trails them in their devotions. She kneels nearby as the redhead murmurs prayers under her breath. The warden contemplates the statue of Andraste in silence._

_Something is off about the companion's voice. It is almost as though… she is deaf._

_She is deaf!_

_Josephine almost laughs. No wonder her patron has sent her, a novice, to perform this task! She will succeed, prove her worth, and earn a reputation. She will take down the warden, and her companion while she does so. _

_The warden and her companion leave the prayer station, and Josephine trails behind them, nonchalant, eyes on murals and tapestries, keeping the white hair visible in her periphery. The Grey Warden moves into a dimly-lit hall, likely leading to personal quarters for the Chantry sisters. Josephine recalls that the redheaded companion knows the Revered Mother personally. This assassination is to be a blow against the Revered Mother, who has a worldly, secular past._

_A pang of guilt runs through her. She will be taking the life of the Hero of the Fifth Blight, personal friend to a Revered Mother of the Chantry. She has never taken a life before. Would it feel different, to kill someone of less notoriety? The guilt increases at the thought. Why must this woman die?_

_It is too late to back out now. Her patron would have her killed. How did she get mixed up in such weighty matters? What grudge did her patron hold against this Chantry Mother, that she would have the woman's friends killed?_

_She slips the knife from her waistband, holding it flush against her wrist. She simply needs to slip the blade between her target's ribs and flee, and the job will be done._

_Hands wrap around her throat from behind, and before she realizes what is happening, she is slammed against the wall, her knife clattering on the stone floor. Her vision is filled with pale skin and long, red hair. Her air only comes in the barest of sips. She tries to speak, but the grip around her throat is strong. So strong. How is this small woman so strong?_

"_You have come to kill the Hero of Ferelden?" The redhead's voice lilts with both the accent of Orlais and the unique inflection of the deaf. She speaks softly, quietly, and Josephine is confused. Deaf people normally possess no volume-control. But it is a distant confusion. Her chief worry is how little air she is getting. Blackness is beginning to creep in around the edges of her vision._

_The warden speaks. "Leliana, she cannot answer you if you do not let her __**breathe**__, my love."_

_The grip around Josephine's throat loosens, though it does not leave entirely. She does not care. She gulps down air, grateful for the first time in her life for something so basic._

"_Who sent you to kill us?" the redhead asks. Her voice is murder incarnate. Now that Josephine can breathe, she realizes that there is a very sharp knife pressed to her throat. A drop of blood tickles on its slow, meandering path to her collar._

"_M- my patron, the Lady Decriox of Val Royeaux," Josephine answers, hesitating only a little, and only because of the weapon at her throat. She knows she cannot win this. She cannot withhold the information, or she will be dead with the information. If she surrenders it, she has a chance to come out of this with her life._

_The deaf redhead scoffs. "You betray your patron so quickly? You make a poor bard, little one."_

_Josephine decides not to point out that the redhead is actually shorter than Josephine herself. It is unimportant, and besides that, the young woman truly does feel smaller than this blue-eyed, redheaded master of subterfuge. How did a deaf woman sneak up on her? How could Josephine have been so stupid as to let the woman out of her sight? Mediocrity makes for __**dead**__ bards._

_She is released. "What is your name?"_

"_J- Josephine Montilyet of Antiva City, my Lady," she says, unable to keep from a small curtsey._

"_Josephine… I can see you tried, but not hard enough. Your clothes are too clean for a true peasant farmer. Your skin and hair, too, veritably shine like a noblewoman's. Let me guess. You are the daughter of a rich family in Antiva, yes? I believe I have heard your family name before. You are playing at bard, as so many young nobles do."_

_Josephine feels even smaller under the scrutiny of this woman's gaze. The taller one, the Hero of Ferelden, stands aside, smirking slightly as her companion takes Josephine's measure. She cannot help but to feel that she is found wanting._

_The redhead's next statement confirms it. "Do yourself the favor of stopping now. You do not have the knack, I am afraid, and you will only get yourself killed."_

_Josephine does not know what to say. She does not know what to do. What now? Is she free to go?_

"_I think she might just have pissed herself, Leliana," the warden says, a wide grin curving her lips. She steps forward, does a quick pat-down of Josephine, and then wraps an arm around her shoulder, steering her further into the hallway. Josephine gulps and forces herself to keep walking. She has no idea what is in store for her now._

* * *

They sat in silence for a moment before Ser Cauthrien finally spoke. "I think it's fair to say they did not kill you or disfigure you. So what happened?"

Heat came to Josephine's cheeks as she answered. "They… lectured me. I didn't know it at the time, of course. They fed me, had me meet the Revered Mother, tended to the wound upon my neck. I'd had no idea going in that the warden was a mage. They then questioned me, and critiqued my assassination attempt."

"So they demonstrated to you in no uncertain terms that you should quit while you were ahead?"

"Something like that. Though… it took me a bit longer to truly see the truth of their words. I went back to Val Royeaux, and I… found my patron dead. So I convinced myself I never would have succeeded, that the Lady Decroix had been too cocky in her choice of target, and found myself a new patron. It took many weeks for me to realize that: one, I did not have what it took to be a true bard; and, two, that my conscience would not allow me to live with myself should I become a good bard."

"It… _sounds_ like there might have been another incident which taught you this?"

Josephine sighed. "I may as well air it all out now. Yes, there was. I met another bard in the dark. Both of us were masked. He was coming after my patron. We fought – scrapped, more like – and when he unveiled a blade, I pushed him away from me. He fell all the way down the stairs. He… did not survive."

"Josephine…"

"Please. I must finish." Josephine could feel the tears trying to choke her, but she pushed through them. "When I removed his mask, I discovered I knew him. We had studied together, gone to fetes and danced together. He had even stolen a kiss from me one night. And now he was dead." Anger flared through her, and she got to her feet, pacing once more. "If I had only used my _words_! I… have not touched a weapon since. If my words fail… then _I_ have failed. I know that violence is sometimes a necessity. But I am no warrior, and I _cannot_ do what Leliana does. I do not know _how_ she lives with herself. I am grateful for the work she does, but…"

"You could never do it?"

Josephine nodded. Her pacing halted, and she stood, staring at her empty fire. Her cabin was frigid. She had run out of the Chantry without a cloak, without gloves, without even a scarf. She was freezing. Moving to her wardrobe, she began to open it, her intent to at least pull on some gloves, but a hand on her shoulder stilled her. _I did not even hear her get to her feet_.

"My Lady Josephine." The words were low, husky, the pressure on her shoulder turning her around. Warm hands took hers, pressing them together and rubbing vigor and heat back into them. Josephine was entranced by the knight's face. _Aisling. Aisling Cauthrien. Knight of the Court of the King of Ferelden. She is incredibly kind_. A kiss was pressed to the back of her hand, and Josephine lost all sense of propriety, throwing her arms around Aisling's neck and kissing her fiercely.

Josephine had never admitted her sins, to _anyone_. Even Leliana did not know about the boy. Leliana and Solona had come back to Orlais years later under Divine Justinia's service, and there they had found Josephine reformed, a member of the Imperial Court as Antiva's ambassador. She had let them think their meeting what had truly reformed her. She and Leliana had become friends, Solona's brashness and frankness refreshing after so long with the intrigue of the court. She had made a vow to herself and the Maker – though she was not sure how fervently she believed, even to this day – that she would live her life with integrity, and _use her words_.

Words failed her now, however. They were not enough to express how _good_ it felt to confess her darkest moments and still have her company be sought after. She had no words to voice the desire humming deep within her chest, a mewling kitten that wished to roar forth and take this tall knight, pull their naked bodies flush together, and get lost in the sensations that promised to deliver them to ecstasy.

No words could convey this, so she did not try. She threw her meaning instead into her kiss, holding tight to those broad shoulders while simultaneously dipping her tongue out, tasting the chapped lips, the warm, wet tongue, the wool and leather and steel, the hints of sleep still left upon the warrior's breath. Arms wended around her waist, pulling her close, fingers digging in lightly. Cauthrien – _Aisling! She is Aisling now, in the privacy of our embrace_ – was a tower of fire: heat and pulsing blood and barely-checked desire. The knight's own beast threatened to burst forth; Josephine could feel it, trembling inside of her. But Aisling possessed a control unlike anything Josephine, a creature of courtly intrigue and desire, had ever seen.

She decided to do both of them a favor. Pulling back, regretting it the moment Aisling let out a tiny whimper of disappointment, she took a deep breath and spoke, so close to the knight's face that she breathed her heady scent.

"Please, Aisling." The warrior smiled at the use of her name. "I do not wish this to go as… too many encounters have gone. This is not the Imperial Court, and you are not just some bored noble whose company I can enjoy but for a single night. You… I wish more with you. I wish oh so much more with you."

"Josephine…"

"So let us go from this place. Let us take a walk, cool down, and talk the morning through. Let us not… let us do this right. I want all of you, my Lady. And that takes _time_."

The knight stole one more tiny kiss, placing it upon the corner of Josephine's mouth, and then the ambassador was freed from the warm embrace. She immediately missed it.

"Very well. You are right, my Lady. I would know your beautiful mind, and hear more of your entrancing words. But let us get you a cloak before we go walking in the snow. If your hands are any indication, you must be freezing."

Josephine acquiesced. They stepped out into the eternal-winter that was Haven together, hand-in-hand, in search of the cloak she had left in her office.


	19. The Hinterlands

_A/N: Aaaaand we're back! I survived my surgery, and I figured out where I wanted to go next with this fic! Things are moving forward! Yaaaaay!_

_And we kick it off with some action! Not that kind of action. Get your head out of the gutter. Who do you think I am? Someone who started writing with smut?_

_;)_

_Seriously though. Not that kind of action._

_YET_

* * *

"This rift is huge, Cassandra," Zanneth whispered. Three days in the saddle had her and her companions on the outskirts of the Hinterlands. Now she was huddled behind some loose rocks overlooking a stream, Cassandra by her side as they scouted out a Fade-rift that was in their way. They could have skirted around it, but as Zanneth was the only person who had any hope of closing the rift, she had insisted they do something about it. There was a farm nearby. The demons from this rift could harass the occupants at any time. Better to take care of it now.

It would be good for the reputation of the Inquisition, as well.

"We can still give it a wide berth," Cassandra replied, though her face showed her dislike of that option.

Zanneth shook her head. "No," she said, her tone firm, brooking no argument. "We close this rift. It's too close to people. The unrest in the area has already limited their ability to thrive. I would have this thing closed." Almost as if to highlight her point, her hand flared painfully, the light reflecting off Cassandra's face, creating an eerie aura around them.

Cassandra gave her an appraising look, but nodded, duck-walking backwards until she could drop from the ledge on which they had found their perch. Zanneth dropped down behind her, and they hurried back to the small group awaiting them below.

"Well?" Bull asked. He stood at the head of a mixed company of Chargers and Inquisition soldiers. A company of ten of each, plus Zanneth's specialist companions, had accompanied her on the journey to Redcliffe. It would take all of them to distract the demons and get Zanneth where she needed to be in order to close the rift. The benefit, however, was that, for the first time, they could plan their movements with more than a handful of people.

"It's large and active," Zanneth said, going to her horse and retrieving her weapons.

Bull's enthusiasm was immediate. "It's about time we had another fight!"

Krem's enthusiasm matched, and in short order every soldier had weapons drawn and delight upon their faces.

"Why are they so happy about this?" Zanneth asked, flabbergasted.

"They signed on to fight," Cassandra said, a small smile upon her own face. "They cannot fight the Breach. They cannot close the rifts. They can only train for so long. A fight with _you_ to help close a rift… it gives them tangible evidence that they can help. And it shows them what they must do, what the Inquisition must do." She paused, her smile turning to a smirk. "And Bull simply likes to hit things."

Zanneth guffawed at the unexpected joke. Cassandra's smile broadened. "Keep laughing. It is good for them to see, and it is good for _you_. Now, we should decide how we will do this thing."

Twenty minutes later, Zanneth was back in her perch, her longbow strung and ready. Varric and Sera, their two strongest archers outside herself, had found other perches on the other side of the river, and would soon start firing to draw the demons away from the rift. Cassandra was down with the rest of the foot soldiers, marching around the ridge so they could attack the rift from a stable place. The plan was for Zanneth to wait until all adversaries were engaged, then edge out toward the waterfall the rift hung next to and close it from there. The hope was that, while her efforts would attract the attention of the demons upon the ground, she would have enough distance to close the rift before any of the fiends could reach her.

A yell went up, and then the _thud_ of an arrow striking its target. Zanneth chanced a glance over the edge of the boulder she hid behind to see a beast made of fire on the river's bank, slithering and sliding toward the soldiers now spilling down the hill and onto the bank. Her hand sizzled to life as the rift mirrored it, and then there were more demons on the riverbank. Dozens.

_This rift is huge_.

Ducking back into cover, Zanneth counted quietly to thirty. Solas had said thirty seconds was all that was needed in order to gain the advantage over most demons. While cunning, they lacked intelligence, and their strategies did not vary. If she could remain in hiding for those thirty seconds, her soldiers should have a handle on the fight, and she should remain unnoticed even as she left her hiding spot.

That was the hope, at any rate.

Reaching the end of her countdown, Zanneth stood, hoping Solas was right and she would remain unseen. Running almost silently along the rocks, the elf splashed into the water, holding her arms out for balance. Looking up, she frowned, realizing she was much too far away from the rift to do anything. The mark upon her left hand was not responding to it at all.

From outside, it might look like Zanneth did something to close the rift. But that was untrue. The only thing Zanneth did was get close enough. After that, the mark and the rift interacted with each other of their own accord. The elf had very little to do with the process from that point, merely letting the mark use the energy in her body to sew closed the rift into the Fade.

But she still had to get close enough for it to work.

Zanneth's frown deepened as she splashed into the water. It was quickly to her knees, then her waist, and _frigid_ when compared with the heat of the late summer of the countryside. She did not prefer cold, wet clothes. The leathers of her various belts and the leather cuirass she wore would need some attention later. But the bank of the river on this side was nonexistent, instead a steep rock face – the other side of her rocky hideout. She must wade into the water in order to get close to the rift.

"Oh!" The ground fell out from under her. Somehow Zanneth managed to retain hold of her mother's hunting bow even as icy water drenched the rest of her clothing and closed over her head. The current of the river carried her on, and within seconds her feet touched the bottom again and she pushed up, spluttering and blowing water out her nose. The level of the water fell to her chest, and then Zanneth was moving as fast as she could up an outcropping.

Her feet squelched in her boots as she moved up onto the dry part of the rock. Unafraid of heights, the elf took in the battle below. Water splashed into a deep pool, covering the field with a backdrop of roaring water. Steel clanged, shouts rose, and The Iron Bull's battle cry carried over it all. More than any of that, however, Zanneth could hear the crack and sizzle – as well as feel the pain – of the mark upon her hand and the rift before her. The familiar sensation of searing, burning pain radiated up her arm from her shoulder, and she transferred her bow to her right hand before raising her left.

A great, warm, healing energy shot from her palm, bathing the landscape in blessed light. Screeches sounded, and every demon upon the ground below turned and moved toward her. But they could not fly, and by the time the closest even began to climb the rock face next to the falling water, the Fade-rift burst forth in healing sparks.

Zanneth stood on the outcropping, breathing heavily, feeling drained but far more energetic than the first few times she closed a rift. She dripped water; her bow and other equipment would need drying and oiling as soon as possible. But the rift was closed, nobody on the ground was seriously hurt that she could see, and a cheer was rising through the air. They'd done it. Another small victory, but she would take it.

And for the first time, Zanneth had taken charge and done something at her own prompting. She had succeeded, and she was _happy_. All the bad things that had happened melted away in that moment: her brother's death, her less-than-willing drafting into the Inquisition, her beating, her miscarriage… it all faded from her mind for one sweet instant. Her lips curved up, her teeth showing in a smile of pure, unadulterated happiness for the first time in her recent memory. They would celebrate today. They would celebrate, and Zanneth would be among them, one of them, her pointed ears and her short stature mattering not at all.

She was a member of the Inquisition. She belonged here.

It felt _good_.

* * *

"Here," Bull said, thrusting something into Cassandra's hands. "Stew's good. Got you some before my boys finished it."

Cassandra blinked down at the bowl of stew in her hands. Her armor was gone, the sun was setting, and camp was set. The day had been victorious, even if it had not taken them any closer to Redcliffe. They would reach their destination the next day, assuming no more rifts or other obstacles slowed them down. Less than a week was more than acceptable travel time. For once, things seemed to be going well.

Closing the giant rift that day had also improved morale immeasurably. Wineskins had been brought out, and many of those not on watch were nursing an evening buzz – all that was allowed on the road – and filling their bellies with the aromatic stew made from one of the wild rams roaming the rocky hills. On the air floated wild stories from that day, and from the lips of every man and woman were the words "the Herald."

Cassandra could not help but smile. They had faith in the woman who could close the rifts. An attack like the one committed by Threnn would never happen again.

"Wait," Cassandra said, suddenly realizing something. "If you and I are both here… you didn't leave the Herald unguarded, did you?"

Bull managed to look insulted. "I'm not stupid, Cassandra. She's got Krem and Sera with her. She's fine. I'm not sure even _I_ could get by the two of them."

"You are twice the size of each of them." Cassandra looked him up and down for good measure. "And you likely weight five times Sera alone."

A deep, rumbled laugh sounded. "Yeah, but that little elf is _fast_. Your Herald could learn a thing or two from her. Zanneth's a hunter, but Sera's been in the city her whole life. She can hit you in the head, dive between your legs, and drop down on top of you from a railing above your head, all within the space of ten seconds. Big fighters like me… I'm fast for how big I am, but I'll never be as fast as that blonde little devil."

He turned without a word, heading back toward the cookfire, likely looking for more food. Smiling and shaking her head, Cassandra, too, turned, finding Zanneth and her lengthening white hair very quickly at one of the three fires in the clearing. The elf sat with her cuirass in her lap, wiping it down with an oiled rag. Next to her, atop a cloth to keep it all clean, was her emptied leather quiver, bow, and other odds and ends that had gotten wet when plunged into the river earlier that day.

On the other side of the fire sat Sera and Krem.

Cassandra's eyes drifted back to Zanneth. Her hair glowed with the orange light from the fire. Her clothing hung loosely from her thin frame, but still the Seeker could see the visible muscles of her forearms working in the firelight as she oiled down her cuirass. Cassandra wondered what her _vallaslin_ might look like with the muscles beneath them bunched up in exertion. Zanneth was so unexpectedly powerful. It did not fit with the thin-framed woman she had seen, curled up in that bath in Val Royeaux. She had been so vulnerable then. It was so... romantic.

_Yes,_ Leliana's voice sounded in her head. _Such a romance the two of you would be._

_Nonsense! It is not a romance._

_No. But it is **love**. You have admitted such to yourself. And to me._

_I am experiencing infatuation, hero-worship. She is a good friend and I love her as_ _**that**__. When combined with the hero worship…_

_You wish to bed her._

Cassandra frowned. Her own internal argument had hit the crux of her problem. Was it friendly love or romantic love? Was she sexually attracted to the elf, or was it a mixture of platonic love and hero-worship? She did not know. She _still_ did not know. And Zanneth did not help. It was clear the elf saw their connection as only friendly. But did the Dalish have same-sex relationships? Had Zanneth heard of such things? Cassandra did not know, and she was unsure of how to broach the subject. She knew how to find the truth within herself, but that did not mean her feelings were easy for her to speak of with others.

What she _did_ know was that she wished to be close to this remarkable young elven woman.

Zanneth's head snapped to her as she moved to sit on one of the many small boulders that had been moved around the fire. "Good evening," Cassandra said, bringing the bowl to her lips. Spoons were a luxury not even used in most taverns, let alone out on the road. A piece of bread or a hard biscuit to soak up the stew was the norm, but Cassandra hadn't bothered to retrieve one. She would just have to make do. She was not terribly hungry anyway.

"Good evening," Zanneth replied, eyes turning back down and returning to her work. Everyone else had finished with what minimal equipment maintenance was necessary. But no one else had taken a swim that day.

"Are you sure you will not take help in your task?" Cassandra asked. She had offered to help, to halve the time the elf would need to spend maintaining her equipment, but Zanneth had politely refused.

"I'm almost done, actually. Bull insisted I take a break to eat something. Otherwise, I would already be finished."

"Varric teases _me_ for being a mother hen around you," Cassandra remarked, a slight frown pulling at her features, "but Bull is the same."

"Everyone's like tha' with _you_, Lady Herald," Sera piped up, and Cassandra realized that the elf and the lieutenant's conversation had ended with the warrior's arrival. "You were weak when they found ya all fallen ou' of the Fade, and then ya got beat to a pulp. You've a tendency t'find blood on yer face, ya do. The mark makes ya enemies _right_ quick. We hafta watch ya, make sure we don' lose ya!"

To Cassandra's surprise, Zanneth smiled. "Luckily," the Herald said, continuing the oiling of her cuirass, "today all that happened was I took a swim. Not so bad, given how some of the other Fade-rifts have gone for me."

"Yeah, but ya didn't even fire your bow once! I _still_ haven't gotten to prove I'm better 'n you and your fancy Dalish skills!"

"I've heard there's no one that's can match the Dalish with a bow," Krem said, his voice carrying pleasantly over the cracks and snaps from the fire.

"What do _you_ think, Cassandra?" Sera asked. "You've seen her fight, if ya call just bein' able to sling arrows fightin'. Still, bows is bows an' skills is skills, so I gotta wonder…who's better?"

Cassandra, stew now finished, set her bowl aside before replying. As she did so, she saw Zanneth's eyes on her, even as her head stayed bent to her task. "Zanneth is quite skilled with the bow. She picks her targets carefully and doesn't waste her arrows." The Herald puffed up ever so slightly at the praise. "I am sure she is an extremely accomplished hunter," Cassandra went on, feeling a little bad for adding a criticism, but knowing it was true. "But on the battlefield losing the hesitation might be worth a wasted arrow or two. Honestly? The best archer I have seen, to this day…"

Sera's eyes got big as Cassandra's gaze fell on her.

"… is Sister Leliana," Cassandra finished.

"I—wait—what?" Sera was flabbergasted, and even Zanneth looked up, surprise written on her face.

"But… ain't Sister Leliana deaf?" Sera asked.

Cassandra smiled. It was, indeed, amusing, just as she had suspected it might be. "Yes, she is. Though do not speak of it openly among the soldiers or in Redcliffe, please."

"She's _deaf_?" Krem said, incredulous. "But… she's such a good fighter! And she follows to a whole conversation! How…?"

"She was a very skilled fighter before going deaf, and continued training daily after she recovered from that injury. The mabari alert her to a person's approach, and she is skilled at reading lips. If you listen closely, you can hear that she speaks like those who have lost their hearing."

"I thought she was just Orlesian…" Krem mumbled, looking like Cassandra had just pulled a cat out of her ear.

Sera smacked him on the shoulder, giggling madly. "Though' you worked in Orlais, Kremlet! How d'ya not know what 'n Orlesian accen' sounds like? It's same as Vints, innit, all slurry from havin' their heads crammed up their arses?"

"Orlesians speak _Orlesian_ in Orlais," he answered, giving Sera a sardonic look. "I'm not used to 'em speaking th' common tongue."

"You knew her before she was deaf?" The question came from Zanneth.

Cassandra nodded. "We met before she went deaf, yes."

"How…"

"How did she lose her hearing?" the Seeker asked, and Zanneth nodded.

Cassandra pursed her lips for a moment before answering. She did not wish to give personal information about Leliana away. "She was a companion to the Hero of Ferelden during the Blight ten years ago. Something happened during the final battle. She was injured very badly. Were it not for a mage companion of hers, a woman accomplished in the healing arts, Leliana would not have survived. As it was, she was left bereft of hearing when she awoke. The mage… did not survive the Blight."

That was good. No details of Leliana as a person, no secrets on the details of her personal life.

It was a moment before anyone spoke. "I was in Denerim's alienage for th' Blight," Sera said. "Met the Hero of Ferelden an' ev'rythin'."

"I have met her as well," Cassandra said. "What was your impression of her, Sera?"

The impish elf grinned. "Even if she hadn't killed th' archdemon, they'd've thrown a fanfare for her arse!" she exclaimed, eliciting a snort of laughter from Krem. Even Cassandra couldn't help but smile. Solona did tend to draw the eye of those around her at court. Of course, for courtiers, it was likely equal parts attractiveness and exoticism. The Right Hand very much doubted it was that for Sera.

"She had a nice bum I take it?" Krem asked, trying to draw more out of Sera.

The elf giggled. "Well, I mean, I was little, right? If I was up-close, what I was seein' was her bum, yeah? From what I remember, it was nice." She giggled again before continuing. "Her and that old mage woman you were talkin' about, Cassandra? They spent that winter in the alienage, tendin' the sick, bringin' food an' the like. King Alistair felt _very_ differen' about elves than the person 'fore him, Loghain. The alienage was a pile o' piss before that. Found me all covered in dirt, same clothes with no change to 'em. Don' remember m'parents, orphanage was overrun by spirits what showed up with the Tevinter slavers."

Sera's expression had grown soft, and it now grew fond, warm, as she finished her monologue. "Solona… she gave me th' first bath I'd had in months. Got me clean clothes, good food. Used her magic an' filled me with this… it felt _warm_, and then this gash that wasn' healin' on me leg was _gone_." The elf grinned sheepishly as she finished. "I prob'ly bothered the piss out of her after tha', followin' her aroun' and such. She arranged for me t'take refuge at the castle when the Blight finally came. Watched the whole thing, cozy, safe an' sound, from one of the guest rooms. Halfway through, others from th' alienage joined me, but before tha' it was jus' me an' the servants."

"It sounds as though the warden left quite an impression on you," Cassandra mused.

"Aye, she did. She was nice to a little kid with pointy ears. Tha' always has an impression when you're little. Has one when you ain't, too. But when you're little an' live in the streets… a nip of kindness is _everythin_'."

The elf's answer brought to mind Cassandra's own childhood. She was never living in the streets or covered in dirt. But there was little kindness. Any that was provided was remembered with stark clarity. Most instances were from Antony. But occasionally a servant or a visiting aunt would dote upon her. It had always left an impression on the young Cassandra.

"I agree," she murmured.

"Well, I have watch next, so I should be going," Krem said, pushing himself to his feet. He looked smaller without all the armor he generally wore, but still he cut a striking figure when compared against the two elves in their company. "Ladies."

"Wait for me. Still hungry. I'll see if there's any food left," Sera announced, springing to her feet and joining the lieutenant of the Chargers as he left the fireside.

Silence settled comfortably upon them. Cassandra watched the elf out of the corner of her eye. The Herald had barely flinched when Sera had mentioned Solona's "nice bum." But near the end of Cassandra's explanation of Leliana's deafness, Zanneth _had_ gotten a peculiar look on her face. She wondered if she should push, find out what the Herald was thinking.

She didn't have to, however, as at that moment, Zanneth began speaking. "Cassandra?"

"Yes?"

"I've heard much about the Hero of Ferelden. Tales of her have even floated on the wind to my clan. Is she… was she a mage? What happened to her? Is she the one you spoke of, with the white hair like mine?"

Cassandra considered a moment before answering. "Yes. They are the same. She is a mage of great power. She is the only like her anyone has seen in this Age. After the Blight, she turned her powers to the healing arts. She is quite possibly the strongest healer known in Thedas. The Inquisition could use her, desperately so."

"What happened to her?"

"I do not know," Cassandra sighed, shaking her head. "She swore herself to Most Holy, and opened a clinic in Val Royeaux, to heal any and all that came to her door, free of charge. It was funded by the Chantry, at Most Holy's bidding. But then she was sent on a mission more than a year ago. She… has yet to return."

Zanneth was quiet for a while, leaving Cassandra with her thoughts. Where _was_ Solona? What mission had Most Holy sent her on? Why must it be so secretive? Cassandra had a hard time believing the arcane warrior had found her end, but she also knew that the more time passed without communication from the mage, the more likely it was that they would never see the woman again. Cassandra found her annoying - the former warden was a trickster, a rogue in the same vein as Varric, constantly teasing the Divine's Right Hand - but that did not mean Cassandra wanted her dead. She respected the woman's power, and her sense of duty. Solona simply treated almost everything with levity, and it rubbed the Seeker the wrong way more often than not.

"The Divine had a mage as one of her servants? Isn't the Chantry against magic-use? And she was outside the Circle, wasn't she? How could the Divine accept an apostate as one of her inner circle?"

"It… is complicated," Cassandra said, brows furrowed. "The question of magic use… there are many opinions, and many of them have at least _some_ merit."

"Templars like to try to take Dalish keepers into custody," Zanneth said. "They are the martial arm of the Chantry, yes? Ultimately it _comes_ from the Divine, does it not?"

Cassandra nodded. "Ultimately, yes. But there are also those who act of their own accord. And each Divine is not the same. For instance, Divine Beatrix was much more traditional and anti-magic than Divine Justinia was. I myself was far less tolerant and understanding of magic-users in my youth. Leliana has admitted that, before she met the warden, she was afraid of magic and those who used it."

"But she came to a place where she was unafraid of magic and its users," Zanneth said, pursing her lips and staring into the fire. "Why are humans so afraid of magic?"

"Again, it is complicated. The Chant speaks against the evils of pride and greed among magic-users, but the Chantry has traditionally preached against the evils of magic itself."

"Magic is not evil," the elf scoffed.

"That is true. It is not _inherently_ evil. But _people_ are inherently flawed. Greedy, arrogant, short-sighted. And magic is _powerful_. When combined, the repercussions can be explosive."

"Everybody has the potential to be short-sighted, greedy, and arrogant," Zanneth argued. "Why is no one else condemned from a young age by your Chantry?"

"It is true, everyone has the potential to succumb to greed and arrogance. But not everyone has the ability to cause such wholesale destruction if they do. A man can raise an army, yes. But a mage can call the destructive powers of demons into this world. By _accident_. It happened in Redcliffe, when the arl's son panicked and came into his power at the same time. This power… it must be checked. There must be someone, something, that can keep it in line if the practitioner gets out of hand. I no longer agree with some of the harsher methods _some_ Circles have taken, but I do agree that the Circles, Templar Order, and Seeker Order are necessary. The Circles to teach mages to control their powers in a safe environment; the templars to watch mages and take action if someone goes astray; and the Seekers to watch them both. Perhaps I am too conservative. Leliana would argue that I am. But while Leliana has much experience with corruption among the common man, she has much less experience with it among magic-users than I."

"And your warden, the Hero of Ferelden – Solona is her name?"

"Yes."

"She has not turned corrupt? She is a force with a great deal of power, but she wields it always with control and dedication to better the lives of those around her?"

"Yes," Cassandra answered, utterly sure of her answer. "I am uncomfortable with her being free of the Circle, but she is pledged to Justinia, and I… her heart is true. She has a sense of duty to rival the Seekers who trained me. Her devotion to her duty, both to the Divine and to healing the sick, is only rivaled by her devotion to Leliana."

Cassandra's mouth snapped shut. She still had no idea if Zanneth knew anything of same-gender love. Would she pick up on what the Seeker had just said?

"It sounds as though you and Leliana knew her well," Zanneth mused after a moment.

"We did." Cassandra looked sideways to the elf once more, finding she had the Herald's undivided attention. She sighed. She may as well say it now. It would be a good test of Zanneth's reaction to same-sex attraction. "She and Leliana… they are paramours."

"Paramours?"

"They are lovers."

"They are… lovers? They are women and… lovers?" Zanneth's face showed her complete befuddlement.

Cassandra hesitated before elaborating. "Yes. They have been since their days as travel companions during the Blight. Indeed, Leliana is likely the reason Solona survived her ordeal. And Solona is… sorely missed by our spymaster. They kept each other sane, grounded each other while they performed their difficult work. Leliana… she has turned cold and dark with Solona's absence. I am afraid you do not know her at her best. She used to be bright. She used to laugh. Now she merely works, and the lines around her face grow deeper each day. She thinks she hides it, but I know. I remember her when her love was near. She is missing her rock, and it shows to those who know her best." The Seeker paused, looking directly at Zanneth now. "Do… do the Dalish have such relationships?"

The elf blinked a few times, staring off into the distance as she processed what Cassandra had said. "No. I mean, what you describe – two people being each other's rock in hard times – is true of many marriages, including my own parents, but… none I have seen are between two women. I…"

"Is it really so confusing?"

"How do they have children?" the elf blurted, almost before Cassandra had finished her question.

"They… do not. Not their own. Or perhaps some strike a deal with a willing male friend. Or they adopt from a nearby orphanage. Or they enter the relationship with children from previous trysts with men. Many women who have children have little choice in the matter. Couples like Leliana and Solona can at least make it a true choice."

Zanneth sat quietly, clearly thinking on what she had learned. "Are you all right, Zanneth?" Cassandra asked. She needed to know what the elf was thinking. She had a personal stake in the Herald's acceptance of such things.

"It is… strange," Zanneth finally said, meeting Cassandra's eyes again. "But much of life outside my clan has proved to be strange. If it is not strange to you or anyone else, then I suppose it is yet one more thing to add to the list."

"I am honestly surprised you have not seen evidence of it yet. There are plenty of couples around Haven starting to form. Ser Cauthrien and Lady Montilyet seem to be one of them."

"People are open with it?"

Cassandra chuckled. "Why would they not be? It is frowned upon only in certain situations, mostly among the nobility, where the norm is arranged marriages for the production of heirs. Outside of that? It is less common than opposite-sex attraction, but there is not much difference in a person's daily life. Particularly in Orlais, nobody truly cares."

The elf's surprise continued. "I never noticed…"

"Well, now that you know, perhaps when we get back to Haven, after this business in Redcliffe, you can pay attention. Though nobody likes being the subject of such scrutiny, so do be surreptitious about it."

Zanneth merely nodded, eyes unfocused. Cassandra decided it was time to beat a retreat. It was not a bad reaction, but neither was the Herald declaring her love for the Seeker now she knew of the concept. Bidding Zanneth a good night, Cassandra left the fire, deciding to turn in early, as she had no watch this night and would take advantage of the extra few hours of rest.


	20. Redcliffe

"Go! Close the rift! I will keep them off of you!"

Zanneth nodded, running forward. Cassandra remained where she was, turning, both swords in-hand, to see what new monsters wished to try to harm the Herald. _Why did we only come with a handful of people? Why did we leave everyone else behind at the camp? This could be disastrous!_

A raging demon, its body molten fire, lashed out at the Seeker. Cassandra ducked, rolling away and struck with one sword even as she pushed herself to her feet with the other hand. The steel of the blade was enchanted to be effective against elemental beings like this one, so when it bit into the molten creature, it received no damage, instead causing the creature to hiss and shriek. The demon reared back, readying itself for another attack, when suddenly Cassandra heard the telltale sound of Zanneth's mark interacting with the rift.

The demon immediately disengaged its fight with Cassandra, attempting to move around her. "I will not let you," she huffed, moving to slow it, to hamper its progress toward the Herald. As it moved, however, it suddenly slowed. Cassandra halted her own progress, taking in as much detail as she could in an instant. The grass in a circle around the demon looked different from the rest, as though its response to the wind and the scuffle of feet had halted. The demon itself moved as though through molasses. Why had it slowed?

Looking up, Cassandra saw Solas chasing down a demon attempting to get to Zanneth. As she watched, the demon and then the elven mage suddenly rocketed forward five feet, as though propelled by some invisible hand. Except _all_ of their movements sped up. _As though time itself was faster in that spot… just as it looks like time is __**slower**__ in this spot_.

It all happened in a handful of seconds, and then the Seeker was moving, putting herself between the demon Solas was chasing and the Herald. Bringing her swords to bear, Cassandra caught the single blow the demon was able to strike before the rift behind her exploded outward, showering them all in that strangely warm, healing light. Examining the battlefield, Cassandra saw that all of her companions – Solas, Iron Bull, and Vivienne – were unharmed, dusting themselves off from after the brief but fierce battle.

Turning and sheathing her blades, Cassandra next checked on Zanneth. "Are you harmed?" she asked, taking the few steps necessary to be at the elf's side. Zanneth's hair, now two inches long, was tousled. Cassandra could not help but think the look suited the elf greatly. She wore leggings and a leather cuirass, an Inquisition tabard over it, just like Cassandra and the Inquisition soldiers. The Seeker approved. It was a tangible, visible way that the Herald aligned herself with the soldiers who volunteered their lives, should there be a need. It was also… _fetching_ on the elf, despite her small stature.

"I am undamaged," Zanneth said, a half-grin gracing her features. It pulled at the scar that had formed upon the elf's cheek after her beating. The scar was a fine counterpoint to the _vallaslin_ upon the elf's face, traveling along her right cheekbone, reappearing through her top lip before finishing upon her chin. Cassandra frowned slightly. Always the Herald would have that reminder from Threnn.

_Threnn is dead. She is no longer a threat, and those left in the Inquisition love the Herald more with each passing hour. This scar can be a reminder of that love, that strength. It need not be a reminder of that terrible night._

"I am glad," Cassandra answered, taking hold of the Herald's shoulder briefly before turning to the others. "Everyone else?"

"We're fine," Bull grumped, shouldering his giant maul. "Fighting these damned demons and these damned rifts is unsatisfying. They just… _disappear_. I want an enemy I can _kill_!"

She smirked. Leave it to Bull to find such a simple reason for hating rifts. She suspected it was more than that; that the demons were disconcerting to the man who delighted in such simple, earthly pleasures as he did. But if he weren't frightened, then she would truly be worried. _Everyone_ should find demons terrifying. They were elemental beings of the Fade. They did not belong in this world.

"This rift was different," Solas mused, hand on his chin.

"I noticed, as well," Cassandra said, moving near him. "The demon I fought suddenly slowed inexplicably. And _you_ sped up to impossible speeds for a moment."

He cocked his head to the side, considering her. "I didn't feel as though I sped up. Rather, everyone else seemed to slow down. It seemed as though the Herald was closing that rift for a very long time. Then, suddenly, the world went to the right speed again, and you were closing with the demon I chased, Cassandra."

"This is not good," Vivienne said, eyes up, where the rift had been. "Temporal magic is _extremely_ unstable. If this is some new aspect of these rifts…"

"I agree," Solas said, looking grave. "The consequences could be staggering."

"Well. This is the first like it," Zanneth said, shouldering her bow. "Let us hope it is not a common thing."

"Let us hope this was the _only_ one," Solas amended for her.

"Come." Cassandra turned to the entrance to Redcliffe Village. "Let us be on our way. We came here to meet with Grand Enchanter Fiona. The rift was merely in the way, threatening the village. Let us go."

At her companions' general assent, Cassandra led the way to the gate, which was now opening for them.

* * *

Zanneth was extremely confused. The mages weren't expecting them? How was that possible? "What do you mean, no one is expecting us?" she asked Leliana's agent, who met them just inside the gate into Redcliffe village. "Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?"

"If she was, she told no one," he answered, looking worried. "I've spread word, but…"

"I don't like this at all," Cassandra said, crossing her arms over her chest as she took in the spy, dressed in the uniform of a soldier of the Inquisition, for once. His job here had been to stand out, to spread word of their arrival, not to blend in and gather information. "We saw her, spoke to her. She led this rebellion. Her people should have at least heard some whisper that we would be coming."

"She did leave unexpectedly in the night," Vivienne murmured, brows furrowed. She had abandoned her headdress from Val Royeaux some time ago, revealing her hair to be shorn shorter than Zanneth's. It was a severe aesthetic, but Zanneth could not deny that the woman carried it well. "What game is she playing, I wonder?"

"Maybe she went nuts?" Bull suggested, shrugging when Cassandra raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Seems just as likely to me, Seeker."

"We will decide nothing standing here," Solas finally said. "I agree, it is not to our benefit to arrive unexpected, but we are here, and we need power for the mark to close the Breach. We must follow through."

"We can still attempt to approach the templars," Cassandra said, but Zanneth could see the doubt in the Seeker's eyes. She was unsure of her own suggestion.

Vivienne clucked her tongue. "My dear, we do not even know where the Lord Seeker has taken them."

Cassandra sighed, finally unfolding her arms. "I know. I am frustrated by our lack of options."

"Indeed. Nobody appreciates being backed into a decision by a lack of options. But time grows short and this answer has presented itself as the only option available _now_, which is what we need. So we must lift our heads and bear it, dear Seeker."

Cassandra's frown just deepened.

A thought, however, occurred to Zanneth. "Wait. Aren't these the Orlesian mages only? Doesn't Ferelden have its own Circle? Why can we not go to _them_?"

Vivienne laughed. "Oh, my dear Herald, you are clever! Unfortunately, the vote was held in Orlais, but representatives of all Circles were in attendance. It was unprecedented, to have so many mages travel so far. When they went home with the decision, the Circle Tower was abandoned, and the rebel Ferelden mages now reside with the Orlesian mages here, in Redcliffe. Maker knows what happened to the loyal mages…"

"They were at the Conclave," Cassandra said. "And many of them are now dead. The rest are the mages you see with the remaining loyal templars, who joined the Inquisition when it formed."

Zanneth nodded. This was all very new to her. She was unused to thinking on such a grand scale. She had been warned of showing her ignorance of the nuances of the politics at play, however, so the more she could learn before meeting Fiona once more, the better. The challenge, of course, was that she did not know _what_ she did not know. So she had to ask as she realized.

Hence Cassandra, Vivienne, and Solas all coming along to help negotiate. The Herald would be present, but remain largely silent.

Bull was just there as muscle, as he put it. He refused to let her out of his sight after the attack back in Haven, and that included here, in Redcliffe. _"I pledged to be your body guard, and that's what I'm going to do. The rest of you are just going to have to accept that."_ Cassandra had made what was quickly becoming her customary disgusted noise, but there had been no more objections.

"I think we should be cautious, but continue as planned," the Dalish elf finally said. "The mark calls on the energy available in my body to close rifts. I simply don't have enough to close the Breach without help. And from what I know of how magic works, versus a templar's powers… I'm honestly doubtful they would be as helpful as the mages." She looked around, meeting everyone's gaze in turn. She had to look up to do so, even for Solas. "Personally, I think this is our best option, anyway."

"And how do _you_ know how magic works, my dear?" Vivienne asked, doubt in her eyes.

"My grandmother is my clan's keeper. She raised me when _shem_ killed my parents. I am no mage, but it is in my blood, and I grew up around it, watching her." Zanneth looked around. "Any objections?"

Bull grinned. "Look at our little leader, figuring out her role in all this. And not taking any shit from _you_, Vivienne."

Zanneth rolled her eyes, turning around. She still did not believe him, that she should lead the Inquisition. But they clearly bent to her wishes in this small group, at least, because her proclamation was accepted without further argument. Though Vivienne looked somewhat put-out after the elf's snapped answer.

Addressing the scout, Zanneth said simply, "The tavern for negotiations, you said? Lead on."

Nodding, he turned, leading Zanneth's odd collection of warriors and mages through the village of Redcliffe to the tavern they would meet in for talks.

* * *

"I don't like it in here," Bull rumbled, barely audible except for Zanneth's superior hearing. "It's a tavern. It should be loud. People should be drinking and shouting and having a good time. This place is quiet and brooding. There's no music. It's all wrong. Be on your guard, and don't say stupid shit."

Zanneth looked back to him, finding his eyes on her, his expression meaningful. She then looked to everyone else. The only other person who looked to Bull was Solas, which made sense, given his own superior hearing. _So that comment was for my benefit. Good to know we can hear each other when others can't._

The Dalish elf continued following the Inquisition scout, who led them from the entrance to a back room. All eyes in the room were on them. Zanneth supposed that was to be expected. Two elves, two humans, and a giant qunari warrior would draw eyes anywhere. In addition, these were mages. Zanneth had survived the Fade. _Some also think I am the Herald of their deity,_ she reminded herself. There were many reasons for Zanneth and her party to draw attention. The days of hiding in the forest, unnoticed, were apparently behind the Dalish hunter.

_I will never go home again. And, at this point, I am not even sure what that life could possibly have for me._ Zanneth shoved the thought aside. She did not have time right now to take those thoughts to their logical conclusion.

In the back room was Grand Enchanter Fiona. She looked… different from last time. She held herself differently, and her facial expression was less… eager. She merely looked upon Zanneth and the rest of her party with curiosity. _This must be what Cassandra and the others meant. So why was she different in Haven? __Perhaps it is just that this tavern is lit by torches and candles. The flame's light does odd things to a person's face._ Still. It was disquieting.

"Agents of the Inquisition," Fiona said, and even her voice was slightly different. It was smoother, more airy and less guttural, the Orlesian accent less harsh. Something was very strange…

Fiona's eyes landed on Vivienne first. No special interest in Zanneth. Not like before, when she was _so_ eager. "First Enchanter Vivienne."

"My dear Fiona!" the human mage said. "Oh, but you look dreadful, darling! Are you sleeping all right? You are accustomed to a degree of civilization, and I would hardly call this place civilized."

Fiona's only reaction was a slight narrowing of her eyes. Then they landed upon each of Zanneth's companions in turn, and the Dalish elf felt… scrutinized, but in a cautious way. Fiona was not overly interested in Zanneth. She was cautious of the whole party, like the way her own grandmother would be of any visitor to their clan's camp. She was… wary.

"What are you doing in Redcliffe?"

Zanneth had no answer at first. _She… didn't know we were coming? Why lie? We __**saw**__ her!_ "Is this some sort of test?" she found herself saying, trying hard not to become argumentative. "We spoke in Haven. You…"

"I apologize, but I never did make the pilgrimage to Haven. Given the outcome of the Conclave… I can't say I regret that. Though I did lose many friends and colleagues in the explosion."

When nobody else spoke, Zanneth tried again. "That's… very strange. Someone who looked exactly like you came to Haven and invited us here to negotiate for an alliance with the rebel mages for the purposes of closing the Breach."

Fiona looked genuinely confused. "That is indeed strange. I suppose there could be magic at work…" She sighed, shook her head, then stood up a little straighter. "Whatever it was that brought you here, know that the situation has changed. The free mages have already…" she clucked her tongue with distaste, "_pledged_ themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium."

Zanneth knew of the Imperium; stories told around the fire by the Master Storyteller, of the fall of Arlathan and the enslavement of her entire race. But stories of the ancient Imperium were not the same thing as a living, breathing nation that was existent _now_. She had no experience with the Tevinter of today. The reaction from Bull, Cassandra, Vivienne, and Solas, however, told the Dalish hunter that this was _very_ ill news, indeed.

Bull opened his mouth first. "Son of a 'Vint whore!"

Solas scowled. Vivienne shook her head and heaved a heavy sigh, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.

Cassandra was the only one with anything useful to say. "An alliance with Tevinter?! Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?!"

Fiona heaved another sigh, but retained her composure, speaking through the buzz of talk starting up between Zanneth's companions. "As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you. I… am sorry. My people voted, and this was their choice."

"Most Holy's corpse is not yet cold and you've already joined the Imperium?!" Cassandra stepped forward, in front of Zanneth. She was incredulous. Angry. It immediately put Zanneth in mind of the day she met the Seeker, in the dungeons of the Chantry in Haven. It wasn't a comfortable memory. She and Cassandra were much closer than that now. Zanneth was thankful for that. The juxtaposition of her friend _now_ and her first impression of the Seeker were… sometimes difficult to reconcile. Cassandra clearly had a temper. She mostly kept it reined in, but when it bubbled forth, it was a boil that was not quickly cooled.

Fiona was on the defensive immediately. "Most of Thedas still blames us for the Divine's death! The templars' attacks were growing worse! And we had no allies! I have families here! Children from the Circles! Defenseless Tranquil! Our choices were a last stand here in Redcliffe, or the only offer of aid we received. My people chose to pledge themselves to Tevinter, rather than to continue fighting with no allies." Something about the way she said it made Zanneth think Fiona didn't have much say in the matter.

Before Cassandra could argue further – and argue she wished to do, as evidenced by how she stepped forward with her mouth open – the door to the room slammed open, and an entirely oily voice sounded from the doorway.

"Welcome my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier." Zanneth turned to see a human man walk into the room. He wore elaborate robes, finely stitched with gold thread. His eyebrows and facial hair were pronounced against his lightly-tanned skin, despite being thrown into some shadow from his cowl. He was of what Zanneth thought to be average height for a human man, though judging against her own eclectic band made that a difficult assessment to make.

"Agents of the Inquisition," Fiona said, and Zanneth turned to see her looking somewhat dismayed. Dismayed, and resigned. "Allow me to introduce Magister Geron Alexius." The man in question walked around Zanneth's party and came to stand in front of Fiona. Zanneth did not miss his deliberate placement of himself ahead of the grand enchanter.

She fought hard not to narrow her eyes in displeasure.

"The southern mages are under my command. And you… you are the survivor, yes?" he asked, eyes on Zanneth. "The one from the Fade? Interesting."

"He is way too interested in you," she heard Bull murmur. Zanneth gave a acknowledge him, and was pleased to see Alexius's eyes widen with pleasure, taking the nod as an acknowledgement to _him_.

She decided that more information was better. "The Grand Enchanter mentioned that she was 'indentured to a magister.' Just what are the terms of your agreement?"

"I hardly need answer to _you_," the man said, though his voice remained that false, oily pleasantness that made Zanneth's skin crawl.

"Your Imperium burned my people to the ground and enslaved us."

"Thousands of years ago. You would blame _me_ for this?"

"No, but you can surely understand my wariness when it comes to Tevinter and indentured servants. Will they ever be free? The rebellion _started_ because they wished for freedom."

Alexius pursed his lips, then smiled. It looked more like a grimace. What could displease him _so_ much about what Zanneth had just said? "I suppose I can explain how Tevinter citizenship works. The southern mages have no legal status in the Imperium. They were not born citizens, so they must work for a period of ten years before gaining full rights. I oversee their work for the Imperium, and have taken them under my protection. For the moment, they are a considerable expense. However, after they are properly trained, they will join our legion."

"You said not all my people would be military!" Fiona nearly shouted, anger clearly written on her face. "We have families, children-!"

"And one day I am sure they will be productive members of the Imperium!" Alexius turned, bearing down on Fiona. "When their debts are paid!" The change from his pleasant demeanor to how he dealt with Fiona was… striking.

As he turned, Cassandra spoke up. "Where is Arl Teagan? His soldiers?"

"The Arl of Redcliffe left the village when the southern mages came to reside here."

Cassandra took the answer, her expression as stony as it had been before the question. Zanneth was sure she didn't believe it, however. The elf remembered her speaking of the arl the day before. _"Arl Teagan did not abandon his lands during the Blight, even when they were under siege. So where are his men in the Hinterlands?"_

Zanneth pursed her lips. "Redcliffe is an awful long way from Tevinter…"

"Indeed, I am a stranger in these lands. Though I have heard you are no Ferelden, either. In fact, from what I know, your Inquisition is almost entirely run by those of Orlais. An Orlesian Inquisition in Ferelden… I imagine the king is not happy about that."

Zanneth frowned. _Most of our soldiers are Ferelden-born, sent from the king himself as volunteers from his army. Does Alexius not know? Or does he consider them unimportant because they are common-born?_ Either option made the man all the more distasteful to the Dalish elf.

"Come," he said after a moment. "Let us begin negotiations." He gestured to a table, eyes meaningfully on Zanneth. It reminded the Dalish elf of Fiona when the grand enchanter was in Haven. _Interesting…_

Removing her bow from her back and setting it against the table, Zanneth took a seat while the others circled around her.

"Felix, please fetch a scribe." For the first time, Zanneth noticed the man who had entered behind Alexius. He had similar features, though his skin was paler and his hair darker. But it was the paleness of one diseased, unlike the pale skin of Ser Cauthrien or Sister Leliana. He had dark circles around his eyes, and he walked… gingerly.

"Forgive my abysmal manners," Alexius was saying, and Zanneth's eyes snapped to him. "This is my son, Felix Alexius." The young man inclined his head politely, then turned to do his father's bidding. "I'm honestly not surprised you are here," the senior Alexius continued. "Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt. There is no telling how many mages you would need in order to gather enough power. Quite ambitious for…"

The magister trailed off, his eyes moving past Zanneth. The elf turned, finding Felix stumbling toward the table. Zanneth was on her feet in a flash, able to catch the poor man just as he was about to fall to his knees.

"I'm so sorry!" His hand sought hers, gripping tightly as she pushed hard with her legs to right him once more. "Please forgive my clumsiness, my Lady." He was on his feet now, turning to a very concerned father. Alexius turned to Zanneth and her party, concern written clearly upon his face.

"We will conclude these negotiations in a few days, at the castle. I must see to my son's illness. Feel free to stay in the village until I can contact you again. Good day!"

Then he was gone, and Zanneth was left standing, a torn piece of parchment secured against her palm, out of sight. "That… was very strange."

She did not show the parchment to anyone until she, Vivienne, and Cassandra were stowing their few belongings at the foot of their beds in the rooms they secured in the tavern. Bull and Solas were in the room next to theirs, and the Inquisition scout was acting as messenger, running to tell those left at the camp just outside Redcliffe what had transpired.

"Cassandra, Vivienne. Something… happened, when I caught Felix."

"Oh? What a dreadful sight. Such a tall, proud man, and to be so frail…" Zanneth was surprised to see the honest sympathy in Lady Vivienne's eyes. She continued on, however. She had a problem she could not solve.

"I don't think it was frailness. I don't think it was an accident." She held up the scrap of paper as she spoke.

"A note?" Cassandra moved closer. "What does it say?"

"I…" Zanneth took a deep breath. _Here we go…_ "I can't read it," she admitted.

"You…" Cassandra took it, glancing down before looking back to Zanneth. "But it is in the common tongue that you speak."

"My dear Cassandra, what she means is that she can't read. Right, dear?"

Zanneth nodded. Vivienne pursed her lips. "We shall have to fix that. Not tonight, of course, but most of Ferelden's _peasants_ can read. It won't do to have the Herald of Andraste running around illiterate…"

Zanneth huffed in annoyance. They were getting off track. "What does it say, Cassandra?"

"'Come to the Chantry after nightfall. You are in danger.'"

Lady Vivienne, reading over Cassandra's shoulder, looked up, meeting Zanneth's eyes. "It is in Fiona's handwriting, my dear."

* * *

_A/N: __Just a quick note. I haven't read any DA novels, but I've read about Fiona on the wiki a *lot* and am sort of extrapolating from there. There's a few changes coming. I hope you like them._


	21. A Portrait of Dorian Pavus

_A/N: Hi! My muse has been on fire, giving me **all** the ideas, and it's been difficult to keep up. In the midst of that, I wrote this chapter the other day! Thank you to Raven Sinead for being a spectacular beta and stroking my ego, like, a lot._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_Chapter 21: A Portrait of Dorian Pavus_

The Chantry was large, made of stone, much like the Chantry in Haven. Though here it was surrounded by greenery, with a nice view of the lake. It was more inviting than the imposing structure built into the mountainside in Haven. Zanneth supposed that was as it should be. The mountainous surroundings in Haven were not welcoming. The Chantry, by comparison, was a welcome reprieve from the cold and snow.

"We're never gonna be rid of the damn Chantry, are we?" Bull rumbled, looking up at the stone building dubiously.

"We are dealing with magic, the Fade, and demons, Bull," Solas remarked, shaking his bald head. "Their chief desire is to control such things. Of _course_ we will not be rid of the Chantry."

"Pah," Cassandra's voice sounded, voicing her disagreement. "And what do you know of the Chantry, Solas? You have lived only outside its jurisdiction."

"Oh? And what is so wonderful about it, Seeker? To me, I see only control."

Cassandra was quiet a moment before answering. "The Chantry, at its best, would feed the hungry, spread the Chant of Light, and teach control to those who would otherwise sew chaos in our lands. It taught me to control my own tempestuous nature as a young woman. Divine Justinia was _trying_ to bring the Chantry back to its original purpose…"

"And we know she would have _succeeded_, my dear," Vivienne said, a hand barely grazing Cassandra's arm in a momentary show of support and comfort. "I was a great fan of hers."

Cassandra looked as though she found Vivienne's comfort distasteful. "I know the Chantry has its problems," she said through gritted teeth. "But imagine the world of Men without it? It would be Tevinter, only worse."

"There is that," Solas conceded. "Shall we go inside?"

Zanneth nodded, moving to the giant door. Cassandra came to her side, ostensibly to help. "Are you all right?" the elf asked, eyeing the human warrior from the side.

Cassandra shook her head. "I am fine. I sometimes forget that the Chantry and my faith are separate things. I have faith in the Maker. The Chantry and its ability to function exists outside of that." She paused, lifting her hands to the door. "Old habits… die hard."

Zanneth cocked her head to the side at that, but didn't ask for clarification. Instead, she nodded. "Your faith obviously gives you strength. I don't share it, but I… respect it in you."

"That is more than I could ask someone without the same experiences," Cassandra said. "Now, shall we go inside?"

They were met by the familiar green glow of a Fade-rift, silhouetting a figure standing between the pews.

"Ah! You're finally here!" The man's voice was rich, with an odd accent, not unlike that of Alexius, that was pleasing to hear. It was entirely unlike Magister Alexius, however, in that it was genuine and not layered in grease. "I don't suppose you could help me close this? I'm afraid I lack the singularly unique and _necessary_ tool."

Bull snorted. "I got the tool you're lookin' for right here, poncy little boy," he said, earning him a smack from Cassandra.

"What?" Zanneth asked, looking around. She was met with a shake of the head.

"Who are you?" Cassandra demanded, moving forward. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, yes, quite right. Dorian of House Pavus, at your service," the man said, sweeping himself into a bow. "I came here to await your arrival, but as you can see, a rift has appeared. Right in the Chantry. Imagine that."

"There are no demons," Zanneth pointed out, meandering forward, her eyes on the rift. The mark on her hand responded lazily, warming and sending sparks up her arm, but otherwise not reacting as it normally did when in close proximity to a rift.

"Yes, there are no demons to fight. Isn't it lovely?" the new man, Dorian, said, turning from Zanneth's companions and coming to her side. "I suppose that's different from normal?"

"Quite," the Herald replied, eyes up on the rift still. The light was different somehow, less alive, like it was asleep. She wasn't sure, but it seemed familiar…

"It is like the rift at the Temple." Solas came up next to them, eyes reflecting the green light of the rift. "It was… dormant, for lack of a better word. It had to be opened so that it could be closed. This is different, though. Likely there is some element of temporal distortion, like with the rift just outside Redcliffe."

Zanneth nodded. Politics were difficult to navigate. This, however, she could do: fight demons and close rifts. Her one useful skill in all this. "So, if I open it, I can then close it permanently?"

"Theoretically," Solas answered, looking to her. "I cannot say for certain, of course, as this is an entirely new variety of rift. But given our experience thus far… it seems a safe assumption."

Nodding, Zanneth looked around. "Prepare yourselves to fight," she said, eyes falling on Dorian last. "I assume you are willing to do so, if you're waiting for our arrival? You are working with Fiona?"

"Indeed, I am!" the man said brightly, clapping his hands together. A murmured word, and when he pulled his hands apart, he held lightning between his palms. "Do what you must, I am ready with my _best_ tricks!"

Zanneth couldn't help the pull of a smile at her lips. Shaking her head, she looked back to the rift. "All right. Now!"

She lifted her hand, and while the mark did not respond normally to the rift, still she felt the warmth travel her shoulder to her palm before a green light burst forth. It was only a pulse however, and then the light was gone, a searing, crackling pain replacing the warmth as the rift opened and her mark began pulsating with its sickeningly alive nature.

It was instantaneous pandemonium. Fire filled her vision, lightning and ice and great bursts of power surrounding her as her magic-wielding companions shouted their spells. Zanneth heard the ring of Cassandra's steel and the boom of Bull's battle cry. Wood splintered, crashing against the wall as pews were thrown out of the way of attacking demons.

The Dalish elf's eyes, however, were stuck on the molten-red demon that was advancing upon her. There was _nothing_ where its eyes should be, and yet she felt it had its gaze upon her, and that there was nothing she could do to escape its scrutiny. Fear struck her heart. Her bow was useless to her this close. What would she do?

Cassandra's voice rose above the din. "Zanneth! Your sword!"

_Yes! I have a sword! I'm bloody terrible with it, but I can at least __**try**__!_

She pulled the weapon from the sheath upon her back, lying flush against her quiver full of arrows. It was not as heavy in her grip as the practice weapon she typically wielded, but that only allowed her a stronger grip on the hilt. She brought it before her, watching the demon as it crossed the last few feet between them.

She caught its first strike with her sword, but the shock of the blow knocked her to the ground. The demon was _strong_. Stronger than any opponent had been with her during practice. Where was Cassandra? Why was she not here?

_I cannot rely on her forever_.

Zanneth rolled to the side, noting in the back of her mind that the monster she fought had struck exactly where she had been lying. Scrambling to her feet, Zanneth knew her only choice was to run. So run she did. Leading a merry chase through the Chantry, up over a pew, ducking under Bull's hulking frame, she finally found Cassandra surrounded by three monsters. Without thinking, Zanneth lashed out, not causing damage, but distracting the demon and giving the Seeker the opening she needed. Seconds later, as Zanneth dodged to the side, away from the demon that had chased her all through the Chantry, Cassandra was stepping forward, meeting the beast's blow with crossed swords.

Sparks flew, and then the creature was dispatched. "Go!" Cassandra shouted, moving so she was in anyone's path who might go after Zanneth. "I will follow!"

Without a word, Zanneth was on her feet, flying through the Chantry, racing for the rift. The only way to stop this chaos was to close the rift. Would it ever not be an all-out melee every time they encountered one?

Her hand crackled and sizzled, alerting her to the proximity of the rift. Lifting her hand, she felt the familiar warmth wash through her. Time seemed to stretch, a new sensation. She could hear the clang of Cassandra's swords as another demon tried to strike at Zanneth. The metallic ring stretched, too, the tone altering, warbling lower.

Then, in a rush, it was all over, and Zanneth felt normal again. The rift burst closed, showering them in its healing warmth, and the elf stood, panting, eyes surveying the room, landing on each of her companions before finally settling on Cassandra.

_You always come back to Cassandra_.

She asked with her eyes if the Seeker was all right, and she got a nod in response. Shaking herself loose, Zanneth retrieved her sword from the floor, sheathing it before rounding on the man who had been in here when they arrived.

"Fascinating! How does that work, exactly?"

Zanneth merely knit her brows in answer. Wasn't that part of the problem? Nobody knew what the blighted mark _was_, let alone how it worked.

"You don't even _know_, do you?" he said with a chuckle, his dusky skin bright in a grin. "You just wiggle your fingers, and _boom_! Rift closes!" His dark hair was styled differently than Zanneth had seen in anyone else, and his facial hair was sparse, only a line of hair curled over his lip. It was odd to the Dalish elf. Elves did not grow facial hair. She preferred that look to the various ways she had seen human men affect.

Cassandra stepped forward, eyeing this newcomer, Dorian, dubiously. "Where is House Pavus, Dorian?"

"Ah ha! Astute, I see! I am most recently of Minrathous, though my ability to return there has been… well, it's nonexistent, at this point."

"Another 'Vint?!" Bull said, sounding incredulous. "This place is fucking _crawling_ with them!"

Dorian pursed his lips. "Right. And I'm so _happy_ to be in a small stone building with a qunari madman."

"Mad- why you little-"

"Enough!"

Everyone in the room turned to the source of the new voice. There, standing at the door to the Chantry, was Fiona, Felix at her side.

"I can see I should have thought this through more thoroughly," she said, stepping into the room. "Dorian, provoking an agent of the Inquisition, even if he is qunari, is foolish. Neither of you are part of the war between your peoples." She continued moving until she and Felix were through Zanneth's companions and standing where the rift had been. "Now, let us get everything sorted. I'm sure there are questions."

Cassandra spoke up first. "It was not you we saw in Haven." It was not a question, but still she looked to Fiona for confirmation.

"You are correct," the former Grand Enchanter said. "Alexius used a glamour charm, took on my appearance, and magicked himself to Haven. I was in a cell, here, looking like _him_. I had no idea why he used the glamour charm at the time. Now, of course, I know."

"And you are working against him?"

"Yes. My people panicked and took the only offer of aid that came to them. I was against it, but if I was to let them vote for independence, then I could not keep them from voting for _this_."

"So why work against him?" Vivienne asked, eyes showing her shrewd intelligence. "You would let them choose their fate but now you would work to undermine that very choice?"

Fiona pursed her lips for a moment before speaking. "Vivienne, we never did get along in the Circle. But I assure you that, in _this_, we work toward the same goal. Surely you have noticed strange things about the rifts in this area? Are you not curious how it came to be?"

"Yes, and let's talk about the _timing_ of Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you," Dorian said. "As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. In order to reach Redcliffe within mere _days_ of the Breach and begin his promises of safety from the mystical templar horde, Alexius distorted time itself. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it _will_ unravel the world, rift by rift, town by town."

The room was silent for a moment after that statement.

Cassandra finally broke the silence. "And how is it you know so much about this, and why are you working against your own countryman?"

"I was his apprentice," Dorian said. "So I'm sure you can imagine that my help in this endeavor will be invaluable."

"And what makes you trustworthy?" Bull said, his maul no longer in his hands, but his demeanor just as intimidating. "Your disloyalty to your master?"

"My disloyalty to my _Magsiter_ master, you mean? I thought you would be happy for this information, _qunari_."

"Really, this will get us _nowhere_," Fiona cut in, literally stepping between Bull and Dorian.

"What's going on?" Zanneth asked, eyes moving from Dorian to Bull and back. "Obviously this isn't about the Breach."

"Their people have been at war for hundreds of years," Cassandra said, her hand landing on Zanneth's shoulder. "It is… difficult to leave that history behind you."

"If we could get back to the matter at hand, please? My time with you is limited." Fiona paced away from Bull and Dorian, going to Felix's side.

"I helped Alexius form this magic when I was his apprentice, but it was all theory. He never could get it to work," Dorian said, going to join Fiona and Felix. "What I don't understand is why he's doing it. Ripping time apart just to gain a few hundred lackeys?"

"He didn't do it for them." Felix finally spoke, calling everyone's attention in the room. "My father's joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves 'Venatori.' Whatever he's done for them, he's done it for one thing only: to get to _you_," he said, pointing right at Zanneth.

"Why work against your father?" Cassandra asked, brows knit.

"For the same reason Dorian is. I love my father, _and_ my country. But this? Cults? Magic that distorts time? He's gone mad. I must do what I can to stop him, for his own sake."

Zanneth clucked her tongue lightly. "I already knew he was after me. But can you tell us _why_?"

"The whole cult is obsessed with you, but I don't know why. Father keeps me in the dark, treats me like a sick little boy. All I can think is that your survival of the explosion at the Conclave got their attention."

"You can close the rifts," Dorian said, though his eyes were focused elsewhere, deep in thought. "Maybe there's a connection? Or they see you as a threat?"

Felix's expression fell, showing true fear. "If the Venatori are behind the rifts, or the Breach? They're even worse than I thought…"

"That son of a bitch sure did a lot to get into your pants, boss," Bull said, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Did you bring anything for _him_?"

"A fruit basket would do nicely," Dorian quipped. Zanneth was confused. Weren't they _just_ bickering?

"We know the Herald is Alexius's target," Solas said, finally ending his silence. "Expecting the trap is the first step toward turning it to your advantage."

"I agree," said Vivienne. "But _how_ to turn it to our advantage…"

"I must be back to the castle soon," Fiona said, looking around a little nervously. "I must avoid suspicion at all costs. He already knows I am not happy with this arrangement. If he suspects I am actively working against him…"

"Yes, and I must be off, as well," Dorian announced. "But when you do spring your own trap, I would be part of it. I helped develop this magic. I am responsible for ensuring it doesn't rip apart the world."

"We have a camp of soldiers at the crossroads," Zanneth said. "You can return with us and keep informed of our plans _there_ if you wish."

Bull didn't look happy at the offer, but nobody openly protested.

"Well, what an invitation! I shall find them under cover of night. Until then… Felix, do try not to get yourself killed."

"There are worse things than dying, Dorian," the junior Alexius said, shaking his head. "Take care of yourself."

"I always do!" called the Tevinter mage as he disappeared through a hallway near the back of the Chantry.

"I must be off, as well," Fiona said. "I will await your move when you meet with Alexius. Do try not to catch me in the crossfire?" She left them, as well, slipping through the heavy wooden doors with seemingly no effort.

Felix eyed the door. "I should report back to the castle, as well. My father doesn't know I faked my collapse yesterday, and I would prefer to keep it that way. Good luck. I'm sure you'll find a good way to turn his trap around on him."

"Wait, Felix. I…" Zanneth was unsure how to say it, but it needed to be said if they were to work together. "Your father… mercy might be in short supply."

His dark eyes were sad when they met hers. "I know. If that is what it takes to stop him… I won't get in your way."

With that declaration, he was gone, leaving the Chantry by the same route as Dorian. Zanneth could only stare after him, wondering at his courage, at his resolve to do the right thing despite possibly losing his father.

"Come," Cassandra said at last. "We should not stay here. Until we get word from Alexius, we should regroup with our companions at the crossroads."

Nodding, Zanneth turned, leaving the Chantry with the others through the front doors.


	22. Blackwalled

_A/N: Hello, all! Life got busy, and we are moving this weekend. We've also got some serious work shit going on for myself and my wife at the moment. But in between all that, I've managed to eke out this chapter, as well as most of the next. But I just wanted to let you know that I **know** this is taking an absurdly long time. Sorry about that. Hopefully it'll be worth it, though. Because HOO BOY do we have some good stuff coming up!_

* * *

Cassandra slammed her back against the boulder. She breathed hard, sweat pouring down her face, under her helm. She longed to rip the damn thing off and let her hair and skin breathe, but she knew well enough not to do so. Warriors who chose not to wear a helm were often killed by the one part of themselves left unarmored – their heads.

Zanneth slammed into the boulder next to her just as a blast of flame licked around the edges of the rock behind which they took shelter. That flame did not help the heat Cassandra felt.

"I think I prefer the rifts!" Zanneth shouted, cowering into Cassandra's side as far as she could to get away from the heat of the flames.

Over the din, they heard Bull's booming laugh.

"He is having far too much fun with this," Cassandra muttered. The fingers of flames, seeming to seek them out, finally ceased, and the warrior pushed Zanneth to her feet once more before finding her own, running out from behind the giant boulder.

Not thirty seconds later, the boulder was flying through the air, necessitating a change of course in order to avoid its landing.

"How did we get roped into fighting a bloody _dragon_, again?!" Zanneth shouted. Cassandra shook her head. She knew the question was rhetorical. She couldn't help recalling the reason it was that they were now running from a very _angry_ dragon, however.

The elf had come to Cassandra before they left Redcliffe village, telling her that Leliana had asked that they seek out a Grey Warden she had heard word of in the Hinterlands. As they had nothing else to do there until they received word from Alexius on a meeting to continue negotiations for the help of the southern mages, Cassandra had merely shrugged and agreed. Asking a few questions in the village before they left had given them a place to start looking: a hamlet nestled against the hills, too small to even have a name, ransacked by a dragon that had recently taken up residence in a nearby gorge.

Zanneth was a master tracker, but even an imbecile could track a dragon that had a habit of blasting little hamlets to smithereens. They didn't even bother tracking Blackwall himself. Though Zanneth did point out several signs that the man had been there, she instead simply followed the path of destruction: if Blackwall was following the dragon, then they would find him with the beast. Unfortunately, he was already starting to engage the dragon when they did find him, so the main crux of their exchange had been him yelling, "Help with this thing, or bugger off!"

So here they were, attempting to kill a dragon. They had not been very successful thus far. There had been no time to strategize, and now they were too disorganized. And this Warden Blackwall did not seem interested in gathering together a strategy, instead throwing himself headfirst into battle against the damned thing. He and Bull both seemed to think the trick was to get in close, inside the range of the dragon's fiery breath. Cassandra knew better. This just made you have to contend with claws and teeth. No, the true way to kill a dragon was to get upon its back. Ground it by disabling its wings, then its legs. But _getting_ there was difficult. And the Seeker could not get close enough to the other warriors to let them know.

She _could_, however, get to Zanneth, who was light and swift on her feet. Perfect for gaining perch atop a living creature.

Taking shelter once more, Cassandra reached out and grabbed the elf as she tried to run past. It was a testament to Zanneth's trust in her that the elf was completely pliant in her arms, allowing the human to hold her still even as they both gasped, trying to catch their breath.

"What is it? Do you have a plan?" she asked.

Cassandra was busy looking above her. The rocks they taken refuge behind… were _stacked_. And they reached up into the heavens, like a finger of the cliffs nearby had broken off and floated this way.

"Yes," Cassandra said, looking back down, finding Zanneth's deep brown eyes on her immediately. "Climb. Now. Before it finds us here."

Zanneth nodded, and immediately jumped for an outcropping next to her. She then turned, holding out a hand for Cassandra. Sheathing the one sword she had drawn, the Seeker jumped, catching Zanneth's hand and using it to help herself up. Then they were off, climbing as fast as possible, hoping to get out of the dragon's reach before it found their hiding spot.

Near the top, they stilled, crouching and pushing their backs to the cliff face behind them. Cassandra breathed hard, trying to re-energize herself before it was time to try taking this dragon down.

"You've done this before?" Zanneth asked, just loud enough to be heard over the din of the dragon and Bull's battle cries.

Cassandra nodded, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Yes. As a young woman. The plot to overthrow Divine Beatrix involved blood mages controlling a little mage child who could commune with animals, in this case dragons. They weren't high dragons like this one, but with the help of others, all three were killed. But it was… _many_ years ago. I am not sure I am quite as spry as I was then."

"Well, lucky for you, we have some delightful distractions down there, and you have a spry young elf to help you," Zanneth quipped, gracing her with a wink. Cassandra found her heart beating harder in her chest than before, even though her breath was now calming.

This little elf was _fearless_. The urge to grab Zanneth and kiss her, confess her feelings, and then run and jump at the threat suddenly overcame the warrior. It was all she could do to instead nod, return the smile, and turn to continue their climb. They would get but one shot at this trick. The fearlessness was necessary. Cassandra must work to embody the same courage the Herald of Andraste possessed. Then this would be done. Then they could close the Breach. Then, perhaps, she could tell Zanneth her heart and hope the small elf did not throw it upon the ground and tread all over it.

"What do we do once we're atop the dragon's back?" Zanneth shouted as she followed.

_Blast my nerves. I forgot to finish the instructions_, Cassandra thought. Aloud, she yelled, "There is a place where the veins flow close to the skin! I will go for it! You disable its wings!"

"How?!"

"Any way you can think of!"

Reaching the top, Cassandra saw that the dragon was just coming into range. Without thinking further, she hoisted herself up to the top and immediately began to sprint. Taking a running leap, she was in the air, freefalling. The air whipped into her helmet and through her hair, bringing stinging tears to her eyes, but she only had room in her concentration for one thing: the dragon's back, rushing to meet her as she hurtled toward it through the air.

The dragon's scales shone in the sun, orange and red, the same as the flames that issued from its mouth. Down its back were spiky protrusions, not sturdy enough to withstand Cassandra's armor, but sturdy enough to take her wind from her as she crushed them beneath her weight. Which would sincerely _piss off_ the dragon. But that was what needed to happen. And it was her only option now that she was literally falling through the air toward the beast.

Air exploded from Cassandra's lungs as she landed upon the dragon's back. She immediately scrambled for purchase, body smashing the spiked protrusions as she rolled, gloved fingers digging anywhere they could. Finally, her hand caught at the base of a scaled protuberance she had not yet demolished, and that was enough. She was on her feet, clambering up to the joint of the wing with the shoulder.

Her feet suddenly lurched, and then the dragon's back fell out from under her. The dragon had figured out where she was. Its body began bucking madly, worse than an unbroken horse, and within seconds Cassandra was falling, her face hitting the dragon's hide, her nose saved only by her blasted helm, the rest of her body following. _Thank the Maker I chose to bring my helm_, she thought absently. _Otherwise my face would be a latticework of lacerations. More scars to join those already in residence._

A cry rang out, one Cassandra recognized as Zanneth, and then the little elf's hands were on Cassandra, hauling her to her feet. The warrior was barely able to turn in time to see the Herald skirting up the dragon's wing as if it were merely another tree. Then her hunting knife glinted in the sun, and the elf was sailing down the billowing skin of the dragon's wing, her knife buried in it, like some sick imitation of a sail on a ship. Droplets of blood sailed through the air after her as she descended. Zanneththe dragon's back just as the animal bucked once more. She went flying, but her damage had been done.

The dragon was grounded.

_Move, Cassandra. Move your feet. She will not be okay if you do not dispatch this dragon!_

Abandoning her worry over Zanneth, Cassandra drew a long knife she kept at her belt. Kneeling, stabilizing herself with one hand, Cassandra plunged the blade into a soft spot just at the base of the wing. Yanking viciously, she opened the wound, finally dropping the knife and sinking her very hand inside the opening she had made. The dragon bucked again, but Cassandra's grip was sure, and within seconds she had the giant blood vessel – thick as a mooring rope – in her hand. Yanking as hard as she could, Cassandra pulled the vein free, pulled another dagger, and severed it in one move.

The next thing she knew, she was flying through the air, as she was no longer holding on to anything. The ground rushed up to meet her, and she had the wind knocked out of her when she made contact with the ground. Rolling and gasping, Cassandra forced protesting limbs to support her weight, turning and running, trying very hard to force the slow breaths required to gain one's wind back. It was only a matter of time now. The beast would bleed out within minutes, and would grow weaker and weaker as it did so.

The ground seemed to reach up and trip her as she ran. She hit the dirt, catching herself with both hands. A quick glance had her heart beating madly. There, on the ground, was Zanneth, eyes wide as she looked up at the dragon bearing down upon them. Why was the elf not running? What was wrong, if she was conscious? Cassandra had no time to find the answer. All she could do was reached out, grab Zanneth's hunting jacket, and haul the girl into her arms. Then she was on her feet once more, Zanneth supported in one arm, the other pumping as the warrior ran as fast as her legs would carry her.

An earth-shattering _boom_ filled the air when the dragon finally perished, falling to the ground, too weak to move any longer. Cassandra stopped running, turning, lungs aching as she panted. Placing Zanneth on her feet, the warrior allowed her to immediately sit, eyes captured by the great heaving dragon's chest. She watched as it took its last breath, as it malevolent eyes found her and seemed to say, "You win." Then it was over, the chest fell and did not rise, and the eyes glazed over, life no longer residing within them.

A great _whoop_ rose in the air, Bull hurtling his maul around in a circle over his head in triumph. Cassandra understood. A release of energy and adrenaline was sometimes necessary after a great battle. And a fight with a high dragon was a _great_ battle. She suspected that later the qunari would be looking for a bedfellow. But Cassandra had no energy for such things. She merely sank to her knees, glad that it was done.

"Cassandra," she heard Zanneth say, and she turned to see the elf lying upon the ground, staring beseechingly up at her.

"Yes?"

"My leg is broken."

Cassandra was struck with the absurd desire to laugh. Giving in, she let out a chuckle. Zanneth seemed to have the same urge, releasing her own laugh, and before long they were both laughing uproariously, over the simple fact that they were alive after fighting a dragon and the worst injury among them was Zanneth's broken leg.

Sometimes, adrenaline did strange things to you. Bull needed to whoop and throw his maul around. Cassandra and Zanneth apparently needed to laugh at death's inability to take them this time.

Sobering, Cassandra got to her feet, shaking her head as Zanneth continued to grin up at her. "Come," she said, kneeling at the elf's side. "Solas can heal your leg, and we can speak with this Warden Blackwall back at camp, after we accomplish that goal."

Zanneth nodded her acquiescence, putting her arms around Cassandra's neck as the warrior lifted her. The Seeker ignored her pounding heart. Surely it was from the battle only just over, and not from the tender, perfect way Zanneth seemed to settle into her embrace…

* * *

Solas was able to heal Zanneth's leg with no trouble. Zanneth was not particularly happy with him so close to her; he left her with a sour taste in her mouth ever since Val Royeaux. But she understood the necessity, and so stayed still and held her tongue as he clucked his own before finally murmuring the words to heal her broken leg. It would be sore for days, but it was able to withstand the rigors of travel and of battle.

Now it was time to finally speak with the man after whom they had followed the trail of that damn dragon. He wasn't as tall as Zanneth might imagine he would be, standing only as tall as Cassandra as he looked upon her camp, her soldiers. As the Herald approached, she saw that, while he had a face full of wiry hair, he appeared to have very kind eyes. _When did I start thinking of humans as kind?_

_You like Cassandra; you think she is kind._

_Yes, but she has proven herself as such. He is a stranger._

Sera was bothering the man upon Zanneth's approach.

"Yeah, but did ya know her?"

His voice was deep as he answered. "I never had the privilege, no."

"Bah! Yer worthless!" Sera declared, leaving his side with a scowl on her face, to go back to a waiting and smirking Krem.

Blackwall only looked bemused as he watched the blonde elf abandon him.

"Hello, Warden Blackwall," Zanneth greeted, finally getting close enough to speak with him.

He inclined his head. "Hullo. You are…?"

"I am Zanneth. This is the Inquisition. We seek to end the Breach in the sky." Blackwall's eyes immediately turned to the ever-present green glow to the northwest. From here, they could still see the gaping hole, though only just above the horizon.

"That's what you call it? And the little ones? What are they?"

"Rifts into the Beyond," Zanneth said, her eyes locked on the Breach along with Blackwall's. "I… have a mark of some sort that closes them," she tried to explain, finally looking down as she outstretched her left arm. Pulling the glove from her hand revealed the faint green light that always emanated from the palm, dim but still visible even when dormant, as it was now. Blackwall's eyes immediately snapped to the source of that light.

"You close them?"

Zanneth nodded. "Yes. I close them."

"How?"

She pursed her lips. She was tired of telling this story. "The explosion at the Conclave. I… survived it, somehow. I awoke with this mark upon my hand, and it reacts with the rifts. That's really all that is known by _anyone_. I don't remember anything since that morning, well before the explosion."

His eyes moved to her own. "So what do you need a warden for, if you have this power that can close the rifts?"

"The Ferelden Grey Wardens have disappeared. So have the Orlesian wardens. Nobody knows where or why. When there was word of your presence, we thought we would see if you had an explanation. The timing, so close to the Conclave, is… curious."

"Maker's Balls! You think the wardens have something to do with the Breach?!" he half-shouted, immediately incredulous. Then, his mood shifting just as quickly back, he shook his head. "No. You don't know, or you wouldn't be asking. I imagine if you truly suspected the wardens, then you'd be dragging me off in chains, not helping me protect villagers from dragons."

Remembering how she had awoken in the dungeon in Haven clapped in irons, Zanneth could only agree with him. If Cassandra or anyone else truly suspected the Grey Wardens, then any warden that could be found would likely be interrogated. From what little the elf knew of the Seekers of Truth, their focus was singular when trying to figure out what had happened and who was at fault. They sought the Truth, rather than some individual's version of their own truth, and that was incredibly difficult to come by. Zanneth did not envy Cassandra her duty. The Herald's job was comparatively easy: find a rift, get close, lift her hand to it, and try not to lose her head in the process. It was straight-forward and to-the-point. Not so with trying to get to the bottom of mysteries.

In answer, however, she merely shrugged. What was there to say?

"Look. I didn't know the wardens had disappeared. But outside of the Blight, we operate rather independently, right? Blight done, job done, we disappear from people's view and go about our own business for the Order. We patrol the Deep Roads in groups, maybe, but otherwise…" He shrugged. "But I can tell you no warden killed the Divine. Our purpose is _not_ political."

"And it's killing dragons, is it? Saving villagers? I saw no darkspawn in that little valley."

The man's brows furrowed in consternation. "I was in the area recruiting. I was supposed to let them be fuel for the dragon's flames?"

"Fair point," Zanneth said, inclining her head. "I do not mean to be combative. I had not planned to face a dragon this day. I am tired."

The Herald was surprised to see Blackwall chuckle lightly. "You can say that again."

"Well… I'm glad we could help, I suppose. People are under enough threat of peril from this conflict between the mages and the templars, as well as the Breach and the rifts. Do you have any idea why the wardens have disappeared? And why are _you_ in the area still?"

"Perhaps they returned to our stronghold at Weisshaupt? It's in the Anderfels, rather far from here. I don't really know why they'd disappear all at once. Perhaps a runner got lost, or hurt? Or perhaps there's a message waiting for me the next time I check in with the Ferelden Order at Amaranthine? My job was to recruit on my own, send those I recruited on to Amaranthine without me. I wasn't to travel there myself for months yet. I imagine it would be what I would do for years, in fact. Ferelden's numbers are still small."

Zanneth sighed. "Well, while this is intriguing information, it hasn't answered either of my questions. Thank you for returning here with us. Help yourself to food and a bed before you leave."

She turned to go.

"Wait! Hold a moment!"

The elf turned.

Blackwall took several steps toward her. "The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these… thinking we're absent is almost as bad as thinking we're involved." He paused, seeming to measure Zanneth. Then he stood tall, looking down on her in a way that did _not_ make her feel as though he thought himself better. How strange that she would meet so many humans of late that cared not for her pointed ears, her attacker aside? Perhaps her being the Herald made up for it? But Blackwall would not know that name for her yet. She had purposely left that information out. So what was his reason for not caring about her race?

"If you're trying to put things right," he finally said, eyes serious, "maybe you need a Grey Warden. Maybe you need me."

Cocking her head to the side, Zanneth considered him. "It's true that the Inquisition needs all the help it can get. But what can you alone do? A single Grey Warden?"

Blackwall almost laughed. "Have you not heard stories of the Hero of Ferelden? A single warden can save the fucking world, if pressed." He closed his eyes, sighed, and opened them again. "Look. Maybe fighting demons from the sky isn't something I'm practiced at, but who really is? Outside of the templars, who, from my understanding, aren't really doing anything to help at the moment. This isn't a Blight, but it _is_ a disaster. Maybe you can make use of the Grey Warden treaties? Being a warden means something to a lot of people. Maybe I can help."

Zanneth was quiet for a moment. He wanted to join? Would it be such a terrible thing? She could send him on to Sister Leliana, who could get any answers she might want. She was the lover of the Hero of Ferelden, right? Perhaps he would have news of her love. He was also clearly an experienced warrior. Cullen would surely find his skills useful back in Haven. They needed to get messages back to their main camp there anyway. Perhaps…

"Very well," she said at last. "I will need to officially speak with Cassandra, but consider this a tentative acceptance of your offer."

Blackwall's beard twitched in what Zanneth was beginning to recognize as a smile in bearded men. "Good! We both ought to know what's going on, and perhaps I've been keeping to myself too long. This warden walks with the Inquisition, if it'll have me."

He held out his hand, and Zanneth took it, shaking twice before releasing it. "Come. Let us speak with Cassandra," she said, turning to find her friend among the camp's small crowd.


	23. Springing The Trap

_A/N: I hope you like fluff because there is plenty of that here!_

_Life is still crazy, but I'm managing to write here and there. Up next: In Hushed Whispers!_

* * *

Leliana stared at the missive, carried by the warden straight to her. She had already read it several times, but additional readings did not make her like its contents any more than when she first opened the scroll. Finally, she snapped it shut, looking up find the warden, Ser Blackwall, staring at her with his dark, brooding eyes.

"You have joined the Inquisition?" she asked, speaking her first words to him.

He startled only slightly before answering, presumably because he had not expected her to be deaf. "I… yes, I have," he said. His beard made reading his lips more difficult, but she managed. "Your Herald asked me questions about the missing wardens, and I thought it best I show we haven't simply vanished, nor were we involved in the Divine's death."

"You look like you have more to say," Leliana said, fixing him with a withering stare. She did not have time for his hesitancy at the moment, not with Cassandra's news sitting on her mind. "Out with it."

"Wardens help people," he said, brows knit. "This may not be a Blight, but… I would do what I can to help."

Leliana's heart melted the slightest bit from the sheer ice it had been moments before. _Solona is like this. She wants to help. All she ever wants to do is help. She would drain herself completely of energy if it meant a sick person would walk out of her clinic._

She sighed. "Yes, all right. Report to Commander Cullen. I'm sure he can use your skill in combat with our recruits. Have you skill with squads of men?"

"Yes," he said, though his face showed severe discomfort. It intrigued Leliana, but she couldn't quite place the look upon his face. Before she could study him any further, he straightened. "Will that be all, miss?"

She pursed her lips. "Sister Nightingale, please. And yes, that is all. Thank you for personally ensuring the missive's delivery. It is vital to the Inquisition's efforts."

He nodded, saying nothing further before turning and leaving her side. Immediately, the spymaster's thoughts turned to the problem of the trap awaiting the Herald in Redcliffe. She petted Filou absently, staring through him as he passed time and again over her little table and under her hand. She could feel him purring. Did he purr loudly? Softly? Did he squeal for her attention? She would never know.

But it did not worry her at the present moment. What was the trap that would be sprung? A magical ploy? More magisters? Alexius had used a glamour charm and come to Haven himself, looking like Fiona. Would he employ similar means of deception during negotiations for the help of the southern mages? What could be done to counter magical means of deception?

_Solona would know what could be done._

Finally, Leliana sighed. "I need to speak with Cullen and Josie," she murmured to herself, before scooping up the half-grown kitten and setting off to find them both.

* * *

"We don't have the manpower to take Redcliffe Castle!" Cullen shouted, frustration clear upon his face.

"Please!" Josephine beseeched. "There is no need for raised voices." Really, loud angry shouting made Josephine incredibly uncomfortable. Part of her pride as a diplomat was that she could generally convince angry, upset people to calm down and act civilized. When they didn't, she of course knew how to keep quiet and control of her own anxiety. She could even utilize the well-timed snap when necessary. But for the most part… shouting put her ill at ease.

"Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister," Revka said, fixing her husband with a stare. "This obviously cannot be allowed to stand."

"This man certainly is going through a whole lot of trouble just to get close to the Herald," Leliana mused quietly. "So kind of him. Somehow I don't think Zanneth is flattered. Since it is obvious he wishes to kill her."

Josephine sighed. _Not this circle again…_ They had been through the argument that was about to ensue twice now, with nothing new offered the second time. Josephine very much doubted a third time would bring forth anything new.

"Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden," Cullen started, his eyes on Revka as he tried valiantly to keep calm. "It has repelled thousands of assaults. The only reason it experienced _any_ trouble during the Blight was because the arl's son unleashed unholy terror upon them from _within_. We do not have the forces to take the castle! If the Herald goes in there, she'll die. While that would be sad in and of itself, it would also _rob us_ of the only means we have of closing the rifts or the Breach. I won't allow it!"

"And if we don't even try to meet this Magister, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep!" Leliana snapped, all show of levity gone as she glared at Cullen.

Josephine sighed again, exasperated. "As we have already been over, even if we _could_ storm the keep, it would all be for naught! Despite our friendship with the king and queen of Ferelden, we _cannot_ march an 'Orlesian' Inquisition and its army into that country and expect it not to provoke a war! Our hands are tied, I'm afraid. We cannot try to take them by force."

"The Magister," Leliana began, only for Cullen to cut her off.

"He has outplayed us," the man said simply.

Leliana huffed in frustration. Josephine felt for her. Leliana was _good_ at what she did. To have the same man who had come here and been so obvious about his game – though in the guise of Fiona – outplay her _now_ must hurt her pride greatly. Perhaps not even her pride. Perhaps she really was frustrated about the foreign power and the rest. The spymaster _was_ Fereldan by birth, had worked to save the country during the Blight, and very much loved the king, the queen, and their children. To move against Ferelden was personal for Leliana.

Josephine, in an effort to alleviate her footsoreness, began pacing slowly through the room. She absently looked up at her fellow ambassador as she passed.

She paused. "Revka," she said, getting the young woman's attention. "You look as though you are having a new thought the rest of us have overlooked."

"Well, it just… seems so obvious. How could we have missed it?"

"What?"

Revka looked to Leliana. "I am remembering a small detail my sister shared with me, and something Cullen just said. 'The unholy terror was released from within.' Leliana, how was it you and Solona snuck into Redcliffe Castle? There were only, what, five of you? And you defeated the demons and saved the boy? What if…"

"Yes!" Leliana took up the thought, beginning to pace, frenetic as she spoke her thoughts out loud. "If we snuck in a few details of my agents, perhaps some of Cullen's scouts… we could take out this Magister's people! It is a secret escape passage out for the arl's family, by the old windmill outside of town. Nobody knows about it except for Arl Teagan!"

"It's too risky," Cullen said immediately, shaking his head as he struck down yet another idea. Oh, but the man's lack of creativity was _infuriating_! "Those agents will be discovered before they're able to reach the Magister."

"Ah, but if we have a distraction," Leliana said, letting the rest of the thought go unfinished.

"Use the Herald as bait?" Josephine asked.

Cullen suddenly straightened. "While he's focused on the Herald, we break the Magister's defenses! It could definitely work! Though… what of magical traps? The letter said something about time magic? It worries me as a person, and as a templar it sets my teeth on edge."

"The Herald has many mages with her," Revka said, coming up next to her husband and gently taking his disfigured elbow in both hands, cradling it like something precious. That he let her, even in front of their colleagues, showed his complete trust in her. It was more than endearing to the hopeless romantic that resided within Josephine's heart. "They are not defenseless on that front. They even have this Magister's former apprentice with them. He left because he disagreed, and is working with Fiona and the man's own son to stop whatever he is planning."

"Yes, I know, and I don't trust it. It must be some trap to lull us into complacency. To turn against his former master? And the son? I hardly believe he'd turn against his own _father_."

"And do you distrust _my_ allegiance?" Revka asked quietly. Cullen immediately turned, looking down into his wife's face. "Sometimes it is possible to recognize when our parents are wrong, Cullen. And when they won't see reason, sometimes we must leave them."

_Bless her, she is the only one who can rein in that man and his paranoid, soldier's mind!_ Josephine rejoiced internally. Out loud, she said, "So we have a plan? We send a falcon to the camp and outline it to the Herald and those with her?"

"I believe we do," Leliana said, getting a confirming nod from Cullen, even as he continued to consider his wife, a thoughtful look upon his face. "Though I do not think it is safe in the hands of a falcon. We need someone we trust to deliver the message in person. I would not write these plans down."

"A sound idea," Josephine said, nodding. "Shall we send the warden back with the answer?"

"No," Leliana said, and she looked over to Revka, apology all over her face. "Ser Rutherford, I think you should lead our agents into battle. You are one of the few I would trust with this information, and you have the experience to make up for any mistakes or surprises should they happen."

He turned, fixing Leliana with a stare. "And who will oversee our forces in my absence? I am the commander."

Leliana's look was shrewd. "Please, Cullen. You think I do not know you are thinking of a second-in-command? I know how you already lean upon Ser Cauthrien. Promote her, and leave her in command while you are away. She has the benefit of being pledged to the Inquisition _directly_, and not through the Bull's Chargers, unlike Kremesius. And she is more than capable of overseeing less than fifteen hundred men- and women-at-arms."

"You know this for a fact, do you?"

"Cullen," Revka said, getting his attention. "She lived in Denerim for years. Ser Cauthrien was the commander of the King's Guard, and a knight twice over. Leliana witnessed all of it. As did I. You need to set aside this mistrust of anyone who is not a templar, my love."

The man puffed up for all of a second before deflating. "You're right, damn it all. Fine," he said, turning to Leliana. "I'll go. And Cauthrien will serve in my stead. I trust you all to judge her fairly, and not let old friendships cloud your judgment? If she is not suitable, I wish to know immediately."

"You have my word," Leliana said, inclining her head as she did so.

He nodded as well. "All right. I need to settle some things and speak with Ser Cauthrien." He turned, speaking to his wife. "I shall leave with the dawn."

Josephine watched as both Cullen and Revka left the hall. No doubt they had much to discuss, and a proper farewell to say to each other. Amongst two people in love, a proper farewell could take some time.

"Josie." Josephine turned to see Leliana was still in the war room. She was regarding Josephine with a peculiar expression.

"Yes?" the ambassador said, already suspicious.

Leliana came closer, one hand up to stroke the kitten that purred and mewed upon her shoulder. That the spymaster of the Inquisition, Left Hand of the previous Divine, and former bard of Orlais, would deign to be seen walking around with a furry, needy little kitten… Well, needless to say, Leliana was a study in paradoxes. Josephine would not have her friend any other way.

"You have been spending an increasing amount of time with Ser Cauthrien," Leliana began, the corner of her lips quirking up the slightest amount.

"Yes…" Josephine said, uncertain where this was going. When Leliana spoke to Aisling about their burgeoning relationship – no longer burgeoning, now fully-fledged – she had _very_ harsh words for the knight. What did she have planned for Josephine?

"I just… wanted to check in. She is treating you well? You spoke?"

Josephine pursed her lips. "Yes, we did. Of many things. Was there some particular topic we should have discussed?" She was feeling peeved, to be sure.

"Come, Josie," Leliana said, putting her hand on Josephine's arm. "No need to be like that. Did you speak of when she and I met in Denerim, during the Blight?"

"Yes, yes, we did," Josephine said, rolling her eyes. "Why do you pry so, Leliana?"

"We are friends, are we not?"

"Yes, we are that." She sighed, considering her friend. "Why did you force her to tell me?"

Leliana clucked her tongue, her brows furrowing slightly. "You deserved to know, and I felt you should hear it from _her_ lips, and not mine. I didn't want her toying with you. If she was serious, she would tell you, and you could make your own decision. If she was not serious, then she would break it off before anything truly began, and if she did not… then I could tell you of her darkest moment myself and let you decide."

"And _why_ do you meddle so, Leliana?" Josephine beseeched, exasperated. "Do you miss the Game so much?"

Leliana looked utterly affronted at the mere suggestion. "Josie. This is not a game! This is your _heart_. I do not want it broken." She paused, considering Josephine. "You are my friend. I am only looking out for you. I didn't wish to intervene, but it seemed you two would dance around your courtship forever, and frankly… we may not have that kind of time, Josie."

Josephine was taken aback. "You truly do not think we will succeed?"

"I cannot say," Leliana said with a shrug, upsetting Filou, who jumped to the ground with a cry of displeasure. "I have lived through much. Sometimes I feel as though my luck is running out. _Something_ big is coming. I do not know what it is. If it is the growing of the Breach to swallow the world… I would do what I can to help my friends find love, even if I am denied my own."

Josephine's heart nearly jumped out of her chest at Leliana's words. "Oh, do not say that! I am sure she will be found, Leliana!" On a whim she reached out, pulling her friend into a tight embrace. The spymaster reciprocated, holding fiercely to the back of Josephine's cloak. When they parted, Josephine made sure Leliana's eyes were on her lips before she continued speaking. "Things are not so hopeless just yet, I am sure of it. We just… need to have a little faith."

Leliana's smile was watery. "I am afraid my faith is exhausted at the moment."

"Then I will just have to believe _for_ you," Josephine said, resolute. "All is not lost. We are getting back on our feet. We have a devilish plan to take back the mages from this Magister, hatched from your brilliant mind. And love and life are blossoming all around us: lovers meet around every corner,, and you are going to be an aunt! It really is not so bad. We just… we just need to _find_ her. That is all. Everything else? It is falling into place as we speak."

A single tear fell from corner of Leliana's eye, where liquid had steadily been gathering even as the spymaster had tried to blink it away. "Thank you, Josie," she sniffed, her voice barely a whisper. Josephine pulled her into another embrace.

_We will look back on these moments one day, and we will be able to comfort our past selves of all of this uncertainty_, she thought to herself, holding her friend as she wept, safe behind the thick oak doors, nobody else in the room. _We will look back on days like this and we will think, "If only we knew then what we know now." And it will be good. Maker, please let it be so._

* * *

Revka lay in the grey, pre-dawn gloom. They had finally had curtains installed upon the windows, something for which the younger Amell sister was grateful, for the pre-quickening nausea and fatigue were both still upon her in force despite her belly starting to grow. It was difficult to get her work done most days. Josephine hadn't said anything, but Revka knew the ambassador had quietly taken more work. Hopefully soon it would not be so. But the curtains, at least, made it so the ambassador's assistant could sleep into the morning when she'd had a bad night.

Revka did not think on her work or her trouble sleeping at the moment, however. Cullen had just left his spot at her side, and she felt his absence keenly. A candle was lit upon the desk, and he washed his face by its light. He hadn't dressed yet, was still nude despite the chill of the room. His pale skin took on the orange glow from the flame, shadows cast where his muscles slowly rippled with his movements. She loved to watch him like this, loved to see him under the light of the fire, of a single candle. It stirred her deepest desire for him, made her wish that his warm skin would come cover her under the sheets. But she knew that if he came back to bed now, his fingers and toes would already be frigid, and his manhood would take some time to awaken in the chilled room.

Not to mention Revka would smack him until he stopped touching her, his skin would be so cold.

Revka, too, felt a chill, despite being buried in wool blankets and furs, Cullen's warmth still clinging to the sheets and pillow next to her. She was overtaken by the inexplicable urge to weep. This would be the first time they were parted for more than a day since they became involved with each other. Revka's heart beat with trepidation; she was worried for him. But she was also inexplicably excited. She knew she would be happy with Cullen's return, but it was more than that. What would make her _excited_ about her husband, one-armed and still not back up to his previous fighting ability, leaving for a risky plan to sneak agents into Redcliffe Castle and face a Magister of the Tevinter Imperium?

_If only Solona were here. Then I would not have nearly as much to worry about._

Cullen left the basin with a huff about how bloody freezing it was, rousing Revka from her thoughts. "You could always get _dressed_, Cullen," she offered, a small smirk pulling at her lips. "Not that I mind the view," she added, raking her eyes up and down his nude form.

"Aren't wives supposed to support and obey their husbands in all things?"

Revka could only snort out a laugh. "And where in the Chant of Light does it say that?"

"I'm sure it's somewhere, if not the Chant. Men used to practically own their women, yes? I'm sure it's still a tradition somewhere."

Shaking her head, Revka finally roused herself from bed. If this day was to start, and she was to see her husband off with the dawn, then she would be present for it, and not watching from her window. Pulling on a slip, she, too, moved to wash her face before taking up her brush and beginning the arduous task of brushing the snarls and tangles out of her long, obsidian hair. _If only I were brave enough to just shear it all off, like Solona._

_Ah, but she did not choose to make that leap. It was done for her, forcefully, and she wears it now as a badge of survival._

_True…_

Pulling the strands at her temples back, Revka did her hair in a simple yet elegant way that got it out of her face but still kept her ears and neck warm. Then she reached for the simple, homespun dress she'd worn the day before. Never in her life did she ever think that her step up the ladder to the Assistant to the Inquisition's Ambassador would come with a step _down_ in dress. In Val Royeaux, she'd worn a different dress nearly every day, not re-wearing it if it showed any sign of being dirtied until it had been cleaned. And the outer finery she wore to court was not worn more than a handful of times before being sold: one could not show their face in court in the same dress time and again and expect to save face. Well, not if you were any other person than Solona, who wore essentially the same black hose, tunic, and vest every time she appeared. _She_ managed just fine. But _she_ was a mage legally outside of the Circle, as a Grey Warden who mysteriously (to outsiders – Revka of course knew the reason) had been banished by her order. Her notoriety made up for her lack of creativity in her wardrobe.

Now that Revka was part of the Inquisition, she wore her dresses over and over again, just as she had in Denerim with her family. Outer finery was a distant dream. As was regular washing. They managed enough that she did not smell unpleasant. But her dresses seemed to ever have mud stains upon the hem that refused to come out.

She sighed aloud as she pulled the dress over her head. A large hand grabbed the hem, and the dress was pulled down faster than she would have managed on her own. Revealed as the fabric went by her eyes was Cullen's smirking face. "Why the heavy sigh?" he asked. He was still delightfully naked, his smirk deepening as her eyes strayed down swaths of exposed skin once more.

Revka's eyes snapped up at his amused tone. "Oh, I'm just lamenting the mud that seems always to be on my dresses."

"Why don't you just wear trousers or hose, like Leliana and Cassandra?" He kissed her cheek before leaving her side, reaching for his own clothing.

"I… but all I have are dresses!" Truth be told, she hadn't even thought of it. And she'd never _worn_ tunic and trouser. Always had she worn dresses, as befit a lady. But… there was no real reason not to stray from that. It was just… habit. Habit, and personal style.

Cullen's voice came to her muffled from his shirt as he pulled it over his head one-handed. "We have tailors and seamstresses who aren't _you_. They supply the entire Inquisition with clothing. Surely you can find something among their wares that fit you properly?" His head emerged above his collar, and he immediately reached for his smallclothes and trousers. "I can't say I would mind the view I'd have of your rear, either," he quipped, winking as he covered his own rear.

Revka crossed her arms and raised a brow. "Ah. I see. So your motive is personal, is it?"

He shrugged before pulling on his trousers. "I'm just stating facts. You would be more comfortable in the mud, I would enjoy the view, and…" He paused, crossing to her and putting his one large hand over the slight swell of her belly, just beginning to show the signs of her pregnancy. "I would imagine it would be easier to get new shirts than all new dresses as the quickening commences."

Revka placed both hands over his, and they both stood there, looking down upon their hands, smiles upon their faces. Finally, she looked up into his gorgeous brown eyes, searching them, for what she did not know. "I do not wish you to go, Cullen. It will be the first time we have been apart, and I do not know when you will return."

His smile was warm, and he reached with both arms to enfold her in his unique embrace. "I know, my darling. But I must do this. I am the commander. Leliana is right: I must oversee our people in our first offensive effort. I should be fine."

Revka nodded, her cheek against his shoulder. She knew he was right. But her heart would not calm. She decided to voice the other thing that seemed to have it jumping, which perplexed her because it was anticipation and not fear. "My heart beats upon my ribs. And it is not just worry over you, Cullen."

"Oh?"

She pulled back, looking up into his face once more. "No. I… have an overwhelming sense of anticipation, of excitement. I cannot say why. But I look to your return, and my heart speeds itself. I feel there is something momentous coming…"

"Well, perhaps your heart knows that my return will mean we have the ability to close the Breach! I shall return with the Herald of Andraste, and all the mages of Southern Thedas, and we shall channel all that power into our Herald and she will end the madness that destroyed this holy place." He smiled as he finished.

"Perhaps…" Revka was not so convinced. It felt… different somehow. She wasn't sure why, or how. But something nobody expected was going to happen. And she would be here, stuck in Haven, and would not know about it until Cullen returned with the Herald. _Damn my inability to __**do**__ anything!_

Finally, she parted from him fully. "Come. We must make you ready. The sun will rise soon."

"All right," Cullen said, taking her cue and beginning to stuff various necessities into his saddlebags.


	24. In Hushed Whispers

_A/N: So I really don't know what came over me. I sat down Friday night to write, and I ended up with a huge chapter. Then Saturday morning I sat down to write this intro to that huge chapter, and it ended up being its own chapter! Two chapters in 24 hours... Feast or famine with my muse, clearly._

_Anyway, here's the beginning of this amazing quest! You don't even **know** what I have in store for you!_

* * *

Cassandra's hands itched for a weapon. They were walking into the belly of the beast, and she was required keep her sword sheathed until they were no longer trying to make Alexius believe he'd won. Zanneth walked in front of her, Bull to her right. The elf's stance seemed relaxed, but Cassandra knew enough about the huntress to know the extreme discipline the small woman possessed. She might seem relaxed, but that did not mean she was not alert, not listening with all her power for any clue her superior hearing might give to her, just as she would out in the woods.

Looking to her side, Cassandra saw that Bull was on edge. His face was set in a scowl, his shoulders relaxed, but his jaw jutted in a way she recognized as a fellow warrior, and his ears constantly moved, like a hound's nose while out in the forest on the hunt. Clearly, he, too, was listening for danger, for some trap that might catch them unawares.

She was suddenly glad for his presence, even if she also felt inferior to them both, with no special skill granted because of her race.

_That is ridiculous_, she chided herself. _I am a Seeker. I can set the lyrium in the blood of mages and templars alike aflame with but a murmured chant. I have my own special abilities. They just do not include being able to hear the most miniscule of sounds. We all have our talents. They work together in tandem to make all of us more effective than we would be alone._

The internal conversation, however, did nothing to calm Cassandra's jitteriness. Her nerves would not help her in this. She needed to calm down.

_Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._

_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow._

_In their blood the Maker's will is written._

This piece of the Chant had always filled Cassandra with peace, with purpose. Its meaning had changed for – and _with_ – her over the years, but still it spoke to the Seeker. As a young, tempestuous woman, wielding her sword with self-righteousness, it became the reason for her sword, for the wrath that she wielded like a weapon. It was the justification for her stubborn refusal to listen to anyone who was not a Seeker, who might share false knowledge with her and lead her astray. Now, as a grown woman of more than forty, it filled her with purpose, providing motivation and the peace required for wisdom to come to her. Her sword, the arm that held it, her very body, was to act as a shield to protect those who could not protect themselves. She championed just causes, but more importantly she was a champion of those who were denied justice in this world.

Her fellow Seekers had lost their way. No longer did they champion the just causes of the world. They had fallen to the trap of thinking their only goal was to curtail improper magic in the world. Just because Cassandra had left their ranks did not mean she forgot her purpose. Even if she was the only one to stand against the tidal wave of hurt and doubt and evil in this world, she _would not falter_. She would accept whatever fate that brought to her. Let the Maker judge her in the end. Cassandra Pentaghast would not cow to selfish, conniving, _lesser_ men. Not even if those men were the very ones who trained her as a Seeker.

Her heartbeat returned to normal from her quick meditations, Cassandra proceeded into the castle behind the Herald, accepting her fate: that they were to serve as bait while Cullen and his Inquisition scouts, as well as Leliana's agents, snuck in through the windmill passage and did their ghastly, bloody work through the castle to make their way to this room. Already, they were likely inside, killing any who stood in their way. Hopefully, Zanneth would not have need to distract Alexius or keep him talking for long.

_Though, given how much the man clearly loves to hear himself speak, it might be a rather easy task_.

Dorian was the wildcard here. Cassandra did not trust him, but she had learned enough in her life to understand that help could often come from the unlikeliest of places. In the plot against Beatrix, if she had not had Regalyan's help, she would have died an early death, with the death of the Lord Seeker, her mentor Byron, and the Divine herself blamed upon the royal princess from Nevarra who dared join the Seekers' ranks at an older age than most. Galyan wasn't good for defensive or offensive magic, using his hands to heal wounds and ingratiate his way into Cassandra's heart with his gentleness. If he could make all the difference in a desperate fight she had had no hope of winning… then perhaps Dorian would also prove himself invaluable in this.

She merely didn't know his stake in this, _why_ he would turn against his former master. He could betray them to Alexius and gain his favor back with the man, for all Cassandra knew of his motivations. She would have to wait, and watch, and trust that the Maker, whose plan was almost always difficult to follow, would carry them through this.

And kill Dorian if he betrayed them.

He would be joining them soon. He was sneaking in to the castle along with Cullen, Sera, Varric, Vivienne, Solas, and all the others. At least he had minders with him…

"The invitation was for the Herald only," a soldier at the inner door to the great hall intoned, his face fully covered by a fencing-style helmet. Cassandra wondered at its efficacy. Was it worth losing so much of your vision in order to gain so much more protection? _Perhaps it is enchanted_, Cassandra thought. _It would be quite useful, if it protected one's face __**and**__ allowed full, unhindered vision_.

"My companions go where I go," Zanneth said, her voice a little higher than normal, but steady and strong, full-bodied and loud, with no hint of doubt. Cassandra held back a small smile. The elf was accepting her role in all of this more and more, and likely was not even aware of it. This was good. The best kind of leaders led from the front, barely realizing they were actually leading, simply _doing_ what must be done and _expecting_ those with her to go forward, as well.

They seemed at an impasse, until the door opened, revealing Felix. "Two armed bodyguards seem more than fair," he said, looking upon them. Cassandra had to give him credit – his face was utterly neutral. Whether he planned to give them away and betray them, or do so to his father, no one would know it for looking upon his visage.

"Yes, my lord," the guard gruffed, moving out of the way to allow Zanneth, Bull, and Cassandra to pass.

They moved inside the great hall. It was lined with men in robes, similar in style to Alexius, who stood upon the dais at the far end of the room. They were masked. What was his game? Were these more mages? Simple soldiers with no magical gifts? If they were not currently using magic, Cassandra would not be able to detect it. She dare not try her ability to set lyrium in blood aflame here, however, as it was not a focusable ability – if she murmured the words, all lyrium in the blood of all mages and templars alike within a certain vicinity would be crippled. She had no wish to do that to her allies, simply to get to Alexius. She would have to find another way if the trap was sprung on them early.

"I see you bring guests with you," Alexius said, his greasy voice carrying across the room. "Such large companions for one so small. Do you always require such _protection_?"

Cassandra scowled. Alexius was playing the Game, trying to strike against Zanneth's confidence, to make her falter. But she was Dalish. Cassandra was confident she cared not a whit for Alexius's clever ploys. She knew herself and her abilities.

"I bring Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand to the previous two Divines and Heir to the royal throne of Nevarra, as well as The Iron Bull, trusted friend and leader of his own company. Important guests for an esteemed host," Zanneth said. Cassandra nearly stopped walking, she was so surprised. How did Zanneth know to use her words to ingratiate herself with the slick Magister?

Bull got her attention. He gestured like he held a crossbow, then put his palm toward the floor, indicating a short height. _Ah. It was Varric. Perhaps he is useful for __**something**__, then. Twice now he has coached her on what she should say and how she should act. I suppose I can be grateful while also disliking the man…_

"Well. I am flattered, truly," Alexius said, but Cassandra knew better. He was disappointed his dig did not work. She could see it in the forced smile upon his face.

The man turned, moving for the chair upon the dais. The chair in which only the Arl of Redcliffe should be sitting, now regularly occupied by a Tevinter Magister. It disgusted the Seeker.

"Now. Let us begin negotiations. You need the southern mages for power to close the Breach. I have the mages under my command. What can you offer me for their cooperation?"

Fiona, off to the side at the bottom of the steps, moved forward. "Are we mages to have no say in our fate?"

"Now, now, Fiona. You would not have entrusted the mages to my care if you could provide for them yourself. Do stand aside and let me do my work."

Cassandra was incensed on Fiona's behalf. How dare he treat her like a child? She was Grand Enchanter, formerly a Grey Warden. But she was an elf and a southerner, and that took away any other claim to power and respect she might possess in his eyes. Cassandra nearly spit upon the ground at the thought. But they all must play their part in this, at least until Cullen and his people had arrived, so she held herself in check.

Zanneth's head suddenly cocked to the side. Bull's head twitched, his one eye looking to the corner. Fiona took to the steps, approaching Alexius even as Felix, too, turned to address his seated father.

Cassandra chanced a look. There, in the corner, one of the robed men had crumpled to the ground. In his place stood Varric, clad in black and grinning as he cranked his crossbow for another shot. _How did I miss the sound of that crossbow firing?_ Her eyes shot to the next alcove, where Sera stood, waving congenially at her, a dead man at the elf's feet. All around, robed men fell, barely a grunt of pain passing anyone's lips. And Alexius's attention was completely stolen by Felix and Fiona.

"Well, that was easier than I expected," came a familiar voice in a jovial tone, and Cassandra turned to find Dorian at her side. Behind him, in the shadows, stood Cullen, wiping blood from a dagger before sheathing it in favor of his sword.

"It was, indeed, quick," Cassandra murmured.

"There was hardly any resistance. It appears Alexius is a fool and pulled all of his men into this room, for _you_."

Cassandra scoffed. "Are all Magisters truly so stupid?"

"We are unused to resistance," he said, winking. "And we think you southerners stupider than Alexius has just proved himself to be. It is a good thing we mostly keep to ourselves, or we would die out."

"Maybe I'll have to invite the entirety of the Magisterium to a tea party, then," Bull gruffed.

Dorian actually laughed. "A qunari with wit! That such a thing exists… astounding!"

"Hush. Something is happening," Zanneth said, not turning around, eyes up on the dais instead.

An argument was in progress. Fiona stumbled, falling down the steps. Heated words were being exchanged between Alexius and his son. They made no sense to Cassandra, as she had missed the beginning of the argument. But Dorian and Zanneth both were moving forward, helping Fiona to her feet.

Suddenly, the room burst with green, swirling energies. Shouts rose through the air. Felix yelled at his father that he was going to die. Alexius talked about Zanneth being a mistake, that she never should have existed. He held such malice in his eyes.

Cassandra drew her sword. At the same time, Fiona, Dorian, and Felix all lunged for Alexius. Zanneth was knocked to the side. Dorian lunged for her.

Then… they were gone.


	25. When Are We?

"_Nooooo!" The voice is familiar. Cassandra?_

…

The world swirled green and black encroached all around. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't _scream_.

…

_She recognizes the sound of a bowstring. Someone grunts. All around them, Venatori soldiers fall to the ground and Inquisition agents taking their place._

…

Zanneth's world threatened to crumble. She couldn't feel her fingers. Where were her feet?

…

_ "You are a mistake! You should never have received the gift you now bear instead of my master!" Alexius cries, energies swirling about the amulet hovering above his hand. "If I can but correct that mistake, all will be right!"_

…

The Herald of Andraste was not prepared for the ground to suddenly reach up and smack her in the face. Her nose cracked. Her eyes watered. Muck and grime mixed with her blood as she tried to get her hands underneath her. But she still could not feel her fingers.

"Hey! Who are they!?"

…

_"No! You can't!" Fiona lunges forward at the same time as Dorian and Felix. Someone runs into Zanneth, and she stumbles. _

_ "Felix, he can save you!"_

_ The spiraling energies surround her and she feels a tug behind her navel as her feet leave the ground. _

_ "I'm going to die, Father! You have to accept that!"_

…

Feeling returned to Zanneth's fingers, the tingling of renewed blood-flow driving away the back-forward sensation of living between divided time. She felt stable now, blinking several times to make certain that her vision no longer flashed between two separate places, two separate pains in her body, and two separate Zanneths. She felt nauseated.

She pushed herself from the ground just as she saw the glint of green light on metal, prompting her to dodge to the side. The sword struck the muck upon the floor, and Zanneth kicked with both feet, aiming for her attacker's knee. It gave with a sickening _pop_ and he fell with a cry to the floor, where the Herald's hunting knife immediately took him in the throat. A gurgle and the warm ooze of his blood over her fingers, and then he fell still.

"Naughty boy!" Zanneth looked up to see that Dorian was on his feet, hand clamped around the throat of the second attacker, sparkling with energies as he lifted the soldier off his feet. A snap sounded that set the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight up, and then Dorian was tossing the limp body of the man aside as if he weighed no more than a doll.

The mage turned, the murder in his eyes dissipating as they landed upon the elf on the ground. He rushed to her side, holding out his hand. Zanneth took it, getting to her feet and looking around.

"What happened?" she asked, seeing only the dead bodies and the filthy mud-water covering the flagstones. "Where are the others? Where are _we_?"

Her hand suddenly sizzled, the room sparking with green light as the mark residing within her skin flared to life. Just as quickly as it started, it stopped, the mark still glowing very bright, but the pain no longer accompanying it. The room was lit by green light, emanating from the Herald.

"Fascinating…" Dorian murmured, eyes reflecting that green light as he studied it.

"I don't understand what would make it do that," Zanneth said, studying her glowing palm. "Usually that only happens when there is a rift nearby."

"Perhaps there is one on the other side of one of these walls?" Dorian suggested.

"Perhaps…"

"As to your other questions," the mage said, eyes finally leaving Zanneth's hand and traveling the room, "I can't precisely answer them. Though I _think…_ I think the question that must be asked is _when_ are we, not _where_. We are still in Redcliffe Castle – I recognize the atrocious stonework. But Alexius was using that amulet as a focus for the time magic he's figured out how to actually _use_. Ergo, he has displaced us _in time_."

"_When_?" Zanneth echoed, looking around the dark, dank room with new understanding. "What? Did we go forward, or back?" _We could be here during the Blight, or sometime before or after, or so far back in Ferelden's history that we'll emerge to find an Orlesian noble in the great hall._

"I think… I believe we are in the _future_. The past didn't have rifts for your hand to react to, for one. Secondly… I just have a feeling." He looked over to her, a smile upon his lips. "I could be wrong, of course. But I rarely am."

Zanneth knit her brows. "What about the others?" Bull and Cassandra had flanked her in the great hall, staying close to her.

"That rift Alexius created wasn't big enough to swallow the whole room. You went flying from Fiona slamming into you, and I tried to catch you. We must have been too close and got caught up in the rift as they disrupted Alexius's spellcasting. The others will be where and _when_ we left them." He turned to fully face her. "Come here. I can fix that broken nose for you. It'll still be sore, but your nose won't be misshapen."

Zanneth studied him a moment before nodding once and approaching him. His hands came to rest on either side of her nose, his fingers gently prodding. Zanneth was struck by how gentle his hands could be. She had just witnessed him snap a grown man's neck, albeit likely with the aid of magic.

Suddenly, his grip tightened and there was a painful pressure that made her eyes immediately water so badly she had to blink the tears away. Just as suddenly there was a _pop_, and relief flooded through her. Blood flowed freely, but a murmured spell from Dorian made even that stop, and she could mop up the mess with the tabard she wore over her tunic.

"Good as new!" Dorian announced when he was through. "Well, nearly. You'll have two black eyes for about a week, but that's not something healing magic can fix."

"It's fine," Zanneth said, dropping the front end of her tabard and looking around. "Let's get out of here and figure out what future we've stepped into."

"Right behind you!"

The green glow that surrounded them seemed to stretch impossibly far away. Zanneth was not sure that it only emanated from her palm. But what else could produce the light? She saw no other light source. No torches were lit, nor even a single candle. They _were_, however, surrounded by the mucked water she had fallen into when they first appeared here. Where was _that_ coming from? It was present even as they traveled up flights of stairs. Constantly trickling, sucking at her boots, threatening to break the watertight seal of the soft halla leather.

Dorian couldn't keep quiet. He had kept mostly to himself in camp, occasionally sniping with Bull, but in this situation it seemed he could not keep his mouth shut. He kept speaking about how this sort of magic shouldn't be possible, or complaining about the hems of his robes in the muck, or asking rhetorical questions about how this or that location in Tevinter might look under the green glow surrounding them.

"Really, Alexius has not made an improvement here," he was saying now. "The tapestries have come down, but has he put anything up in their stead? No. Just this awful red lyrium growing out of the walls. Red is _so_ twenty years ago-"

"Why do you prattle ceaselessly?" Zanneth finally snapped at the top of the second staircase. "I cannot hear anything if you fill the room with your voice!"

"I… you're… You're listening for danger, aren't you? I never would have thought. But then you are a Dalish hunter, and I am the spoiled son of a Magister. I suppose it makes sense-"

Zanneth stopped moving, rounding instead on Dorian. "Dorian! Please! We need only speak when information must be exchanged! Stop. Talking. Muse to yourself. I can barely think for your half-formed nonsense!" Zanneth was a hunter. You did not make any noise on the hunt unless absolutely necessary. This was not a usual hunt, but they were on the lookout for information. That's mostly what hunting was: finding information from your surroundings.

Dorian looked affronted for all of a moment before grinning. "Fair. I shall try to keep my thoughts to myself unless I need an answer. All right?"

Zanneth nodded, satisfied. Turning, she leaned against the door in front of her, pressing her ear to it. Nothing. It was safe.

Inside was more muck, more dirt, and more hazy green light that Zanneth could not quite explain with the brightly-glowing mark upon her hand. At the next door, she heard a low hum, almost a chant. "What is that, I wonder?" she whispered.

"You hear something?"

"Yes. Sorry. I forget that human hearing is not as good as mine. Some kind of chanting… something about the Maker… We should proceed with caution."

Dorian nodded, bringing his hands up. Already they crackled with energy. "Interesting," he said, staring at his own palms with curiosity. "Usually that requires at least a murmured spell. But this time I only just thought it, and the power came. And it's not draining… I wonder what quality of this future makes the power so easily available?"

Zanneth stared. She knew more of the arcane than humans who did not use magic, thanks to being raised by her clan's Keeper, but still she did not know how magic worked or how its practitioners used their power. It remained a mystery to those who could not access that power.

"Should… should you keep using your magic if it's different?"

Dorian's eyes met hers. "It doesn't feel any different. Just… like the door to it was already partially open. I don't think there's anything to fear. Not from my magic, at least. Bigger demons to contend with here, yes?"

"Fair point," Zanneth said, pulling an arrow from her quiver. "Ready?"

The air crackled. "Yes."

They did not find enemies within the room. Instead, in a cell along the wall, they found a non-responsive elven man. He rocked back and forth, chanting about the Maker and Andraste over and over. He would not respond to either her own or Dorian's attempts to engage him, so they left him where he was. Setting him free would likely only alert enemies to their presence here.

Continuing through the door on the other side of the room, they met a dead end.

"Damn," Zanneth muttered, turning around. "We must find another way," she said to Dorian, starting to move past him.

"Is… is somebody there?"

Zanneth froze. She recognized that voice. Barely.

"Fiona?"

"Fiona?!" Dorian reached the cell first, gripping the iron bars with both hands as his face transformed from surprise to shock to terror. "What in the Void did they _do_ to you?!"

"Dorian… I…"

Zanneth reached the cell as the elven mage trailed off. What the Herald saw nearly caused her to void the contents of her stomach. Fiona seemed to be _fused_ with red lyrium. It protruded from her stomach. Her legs were nowhere to be found, her body instead disappearing and giving way to the glowing, awful material as her waist thickened out to her hips. Her arms extended above her head, her hands gone, red lyrium instead joining wrist to wall. Her eyes _burned_ in the green light of the room. Dried blood lined every spot where lyrium touched flesh. Likely, Fiona had tried to move, as a person who was accustomed to moving would do, and had paid the price for it with pain and blood when her skin separated from the lyrium to which it was fused.

She… she was _consumed_ by red lyrium. Only her face remained whole and unobstructed. It was cruel. She should be dead. But instead Fiona had lived through this transformation, aware of it happening…

Zanneth couldn't even _begin_ to imagine.

"Fiona, you're…" Dorian began, but he could only stare, his mouth open, gaping like a fish. What was there to say?

"They do this," the former Grand Enchanter croaked, eyes staring out from under her arm. "They put you in a cell with the red lyrium, and it consumes you. Then they mine your corpse for more." Her eyes moved past them to the other cells, all filled with red lyrium. "I have watched all my students succumb…"

"This is… _barbaric_," Dorian whispered, eyes large as he took in all there was to see around to the room. Each cell was fill with red lyrium – and now they knew each to have once been a person.

"Fiona. What happened? Where are we? _When_ are we?" Zanneth asked. They needed answers. They _needed_ information if they were to make any sense of their predicament.

"You… we thought you died."

"The rift in the hall was only an hour ago to us, Fiona," Dorian said, finally pulling himself out of his grief so they could try to find some answers. "I believe I can undo this spell, send the Herald and I back to that point in time, but I must get to Alexius and his amulet."

"Yes. I see… Alexius resides in the castle proper. You are in the dungeons. It has been a year, I think? You must get to him. Your spymaster is here, as is the Seeker. I have heard both their screams…" Zanneth's heart kicked. She hadn't even thought that she might see some future version of her companions. What if they, too, were consumed as Fiona was? _I must get to her. I must save her if I can_.

"We'll make this right, Fiona," Dorian said, a steel entering his voice that Zanneth did not know the constantly-joking mage possessed. "We'll make this right, and make sure none of this happened to you."

"Please," the elven mage gasped. "Please… end it… the pain… it is terrible."

"What?!"

Zanneth eyed him. He would never be able to do it. Fiona was his mentor in lieu of Alexius. Zanneth could not blame him.

Moving to his side, she drew her sword. "You are sure, Fiona?"

The elven mage nodded.

"Wait! You can't just _kill_ her!"

"Dorian," she said, meeting his eyes. "Look at her. Would you wish to live like that? She _will_ die. But now… she can choose the _manner_ of her death."

Dorian's mouth closed, his lips pursed, and he stared at Fiona. After long minutes of holding her eyes with his own, he finally nodded. Zanneth pushed her sword through the bars.

Fiona died with a sigh that could only be described as relief.

"Come," Zanneth said, wiping clean her blade. Putting a hand on Dorian's shoulder, she got his attention, her heart going out to him at the tears he blinked back. "We can undo this. You said so yourself. But we must find that bastard and his amulet first. And we will need the help of the others if they are able. We must find them."

Sniffing, Dorian nodded, saying nothing as they turned and exited Fiona's cell – now her tomb – to continue, renewed purpose in each of their hearts.

* * *

"_O Maker, hear my cry:_

_Guide me through the blackest nights_

_Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked_

_Make me rest in the warmest places."_

"That is Cassandra's voice!" Zanneth was immediately running. If Cassandra was alive, was reciting the Chant of Light, then perhaps they had gotten to her time. There was only one way to find out.

_It is a prayer. For the Maker's peace, his guidance. His mercy? Fiona said she'd heard her screams. What did they do to her to make __**Cassandra**__ scream? I __**must**__ get to her._

Only one cell in this room had an occupant; the others were full of red lyrium. Zanneth shuddered to think of who might have been there. Was it Varric? Josephine? Sera? Would she find one very tall deposit that had been The Iron Bull? What state would Cassandra _be_ in?

"Cassandra!" she shouted, reaching the cell. Inside, she found a blessedly _whole_ Seeker. But how? Zanneth did not question. She was only grateful for what she found.

Cassandra sat upon the floor of her cell. The muck was kept bay by the uneven flooring, the Seeker sitting by the back wall, where the ground was higher. She wore only trousers and a breast band, her clothing and armor obviously having been taken from her. Even her feet were bare, dirty and filthy but showing no signs of frostbite. So either the dungeons didn't get too cold, or she'd had boots recently. Her hair was shorn even shorter than normal, and uneven, some hair so short it was clear that mere weeks before that spot had been bald upon her head. She hugged herself, rocking back and forth, but when her eyes snapped up to Zanneth's face, it was clear that she was not lost, that her mind was still very much her own.

"Z-Zanneth?!"

"Yes, Cassandra!"

"But… but you're dead." Her voice was flat, and her eyes wandered. "I am hallucinating. All is lost. My mind is gone…"

Zanneth's heart dropped. The poor woman. "I am very much real, Cassandra. Give me your hand," she said, reaching through the iron bars. Cassandra's skin was cold, clammy, filthy, but her grip was every bit as sure as it always had been.

"I…" Brown eyes met hers. They held a red glow that worried Zanneth, but they were still… _hers_. Those blessed brown eyes. The Herald never thought a human's eyes would be such a welcome sight. "The Maker has given us another chance," Cassandra whispered. "Surely Andraste has turned back to us, to bring you here, to bring the dead back to life?"

"We're not dead," Dorian finally said, stepping up next to Zanneth. "Alexius didn't kill us. He _displaced_ us. In time. That little scuffle in the hall? It was barely more than an hour ago for us. For you, I think it's been somewhere around a year? That's what F- that's what we've learned…" Zanneth did not miss how Dorian could not say Fiona's name, and how he turned his head down at the last. The poor man was grieving.

_When did I start caring about a shem's grief?_

_You know grief, Zanneth. You still grieve for your brother. For your lover. For the child you lost, even if you did not wish to carry it._

_But to empathize with humans…_

"Time?" Cassandra asked.

"Yes. And I believe I can counter the spell, or maybe recreate it. I think I can get us back to that hall and defeat Alexius _there_, thereby negating this entire future and all that has befallen you _here_."

Cassandra nearly jumped to her feet, her free hand – she still held fast to Zanneth's hand – gripping the bar so she could pull herself up. "You can stop Empress Celene's assassination? The demon army that swept across Orlais and Ferelden? You can stop the Elder One from taking power?" She regarded the gate, then looked up, eyes meeting Zanneth's. "Let me out. I would help you do this thing."

"I can do that," Dorian said, hands already crackling with energies. "Stand aside."

Cassandra released Zanneth's hand, and they both backed away from the bars. Dorian thrust his hands forward, and lightning burst from his palms, leaping to the locking mechanism of the door. It began to glow red, then white, and Dorian stopped his spell, pushing upon the door. It held fast for a moment, but then it gave way, swinging open into the cell, the locking mechanism bent and twisted.

Cassandra was a blur of movement, rushing through the door as fast as she could, foul water splashing as her feet carried her. She aimed straight for Zanneth, catching the elf completely off guard. The Seeker's hands went up to cup the Herald's cheeks, and then, before Zanneth knew what to do or say, her lips were covered by Cassandra's in a desperate kiss.

Zanneth had never been kissed like that. Cassandra's lips were rough, chapped from months in isolation, murmuring the Chant of Light to herself so that she might stay sane. Her kiss burned like fire, but it was a pleasant burn for Zanneth, one of passion, of desire, of desperation, of hopes and dreams fulfilled. There was promise in this kiss, in the way those hands cupped her cheeks, in the way Cassandra's body pressed closer to hers. It made her stomach flutter and her blood pound.

Never had she imagined a kiss could hold so much feeling.

The elf could only stand there, letting her hands find the Seeker's hips and hold the scraps of her trousers for dear life. Cassandra held on, pouring every ounce of her hope and desire into Zanneth, filling her with longing, with desire, with determination. They _would_ succeed. Cassandra's faith was demanding it of her.

Finally, the Seeker broke the kiss, one hand falling to the elf's shoulder, the other's thumb gently stroking along the wide scar Threnn had left behind. _That seems like a lifetime ago,_ the elf thought to herself. "I never said anything," Cassandra said, her voice low and gruff. And beloved. "I vowed that I would _after_. _After_ we gained the mages' allegiance. _After_ we closed the Breach. _After_ we succeeded. But there was no _after_. You were taken from me, before my very eyes, and I could do nothing but mourn the love that I never shared with you. I do not need you to feel the same, but you were _dead_! Taken from me! I would not squander this chance again, Zanneth. Not when the Maker has brought you back to me, whole and healthy."

She made to release the elf, but Zanneth found her hands tightening upon Cassandra's hips, holding her in place. She said nothing. She had no words. A million revelations were coming down upon her head in this moment. Or perhaps just one: she felt the same. Somewhere along the line… a human woman had become dear to her. She thought her heart closed, that she had no more interest in love or romance, and certainly had never imagined she might be interested in a woman. But that _kiss_…

Zanneth wanted that. And everything passionate that was behind it. She wanted Cassandra. Perhaps she _loved_ Cassandra. She must… she must find out.

Stepping forward, the elf pushed herself up on her toes, meeting Cassandra's lips with her own. This kiss was less ferocious, much more tentative with Zanneth initiating. But Cassandra met it in kind, opening her lips slightly, running her tongue along the elf's bottom lip, groaning into her mouth. Her arms came up, wrapping around Zanneth's neck and resting loosely upon her shoulders, her fingers buried in the elf's bright-white strands of hair.

Cassandra smelled of sweat and dirt, of leather and wood and stone and steel, but there was also something else. Something soft, sweet. Zanneth recognized it. _Honeysuckle…_

They parted panting. Zanneth felt giddy, despite the dirt, the muck, the bleak future they had stepped into. She was light, airy. Her heart felt like it would never settle in her chest, instead beating like the fluttering of a butterfly's wings. She grinned, and Cassandra, face covered in dirt and hair uneven and wild about her head, grinned back. They breathed each other's air and all Zanneth wanted to do was kiss her again.

"If you are _quite_ finished," Dorian said, a grin clear in his voice, "we do have business we must be about."

Cassandra released Zanneth first, but retained a hold on the Herald's hand. Looking up at the warrior, unarmed, unarmored, feet bare, covered in sweat and grime and whatever other filth she may have been exposed to, the elf's heart panged for her. Reaching up, Zanneth pulled her sword, handing it hilt-first to Cassandra. The Seeker released the Herald's hand, taking the weapon with a nod.

"Thank you," she said, moving the sword to be in a better grip for her. "It has been a long time since I held a weapon. My hand has ached for it."

"You have no armor," Zanneth said, knowing she was stating the obvious but unable to say what she was feeling in any other way. "You… please don't go throwing yourself into the fray. To lose you after that… Please. I… I don't want you hurt."

Cassandra's expression was kind, her lips quirked slight at the corners. "Zanneth, that is like asking a mouse not to squeak. I am a warrior, a Seeker, and, I hope, a lover. I protect you because I must. And because _you_ must survive this, more than anyone else. You are our only hope, dear one. You, and Dorian."

Zanneth's heart pounded inexplicably at the diminutive name Cassandra had just used. But she had no time to swoon. They must be away. Looking from Cassandra to Dorian, she nodded. "Fine. Let's all keep each other safe then, yes?"

"Right you are," Dorian said, turning. "Follow me, you love birds. Let's go find the other one!"

Finding her hand taken up again, Zanneth allowed herself to be gently pulled from the room. She had found Cassandra. And in the process, she had realized her love for the human.

_But what of present Cassandra? How do I tell her when we get back?_

* * *

_A/N: THIS ISN'T EVEN ALL THAT I HAVE PLANNED! But I **have** been looking forward to this. I hope y'all are even half as excited as me!_


	26. The Spymaster

_A/N: An alternate title for this chapter: In Which Leliana Constantly Beckons the Herald to KEEP FUCKING MOVING, JESUS CHRIST ZANNETH._

* * *

"How did the knife-ear know of the sacrifice at the Temple? Answer!"

"Never!" The voice was clearly Leliana's, though gritty, her accent more muddled than the last time Zanneth heard it.

A slap sounded, followed immediately by a half-grunt, half-scream of pain. Cassandra flinched next to Zanneth at the sound.

"There's no use to this defiance, little _bird_! There's no one left for you to protect!"

A pause, then, "You're wasting your breath."

Another slap, another cry of pain. Again, Cassandra winced, hissing in her breath.

"Talk!" the interrogator ordered. "The Elder One demands answers!"

An evil cackle sounded, the tone and timbre of which made the hairs on Zanneth's neck stand on end. "He'll have to learn to accept disappointment!"

"We must help her," Cassandra whispered, her tone so urgent Zanneth thought she might just run in without them. "That she is still alive… she was hauled away for interrogation _weeks_ ago!"

"How do you know?" Dorian asked, also peering around the corner, body mostly hidden in case someone should come out the door before the three of them were ready.

"We shared a cell." The look on Cassandra's face made it clear that it was more complicated than that, but that was all the information she shared. Zanneth felt uncomfortable pushing for more.

The warrior removed her hand from the elf's, the first time doing so since they'd found her in that horrible, disgusting cell. Zanneth's palm felt… cold without Cassandra's hand in it. She could barely process all this. But the word _love_ kept coming to mind, and she found herself watching the warrior's graceful moves, despite obvious signs that she'd eaten far too little since her capture months before, as she readied herself for battle. The elf's stomach fluttered and her heart would not calm down. She felt giddy. She wanted to smile.

But she could not. She must arm herself and prepare to save Leliana. They needed her, and she clearly needed them.

Zanneth pulled her bow from its harness on her back, taking an arrow and notching it on the string. Cassandra stood at the ready, Zanneth's sword looking so short in her hand. Dorian, too, already crackled with arcane energies. They were as ready as they could be.

"Let's go," Zanneth said, moving for the entrance. Looking to Cassandra, she nodded, turning the knob and opening the door.

Cassandra rushed over the threshold into the room with a cry, Dorian and Zanneth on her heels. There were three people in the chamber. Zanneth immediately took aim, burying her arrow in one person's throat. Lightning cascaded, blinding her for a moment. When it cleared, the second man was jolting upon the ground, a gurgling sound issuing from him as he drowned in the inches of muck covering the floor, unable to move after being shocked by lightning.

Looking up, she saw Leliana's legs around the neck of the third man, likely the one who had been interrogating her. Cassandra grunted, pulling her sword from the man's gut. Leliana released him, and he slumped to the ground, dead. The Seeker knelt, standing again with keys from the dead man's belt. She was silent as she reached for Leliana's wrists, where the spymaster was chained, suspended from the ceiling.

Zanneth was horrified by the state of the Inquisition's spymaster. She wore the barest hint of clothing, her breasts bare, only smallclothes covering her most intimate area. She had the look of one mostly starved, not quite emaciated, but with her hip bones and ribs clearly visible, as well as her collarbone and cheekbones. Red lyrium protruded from her knees, like a continuation of her shin. But what horrified Zanneth most was the redhead's _eyes_. They glowed red, but even more than that, they were completely _haunted_. Zanneth looked into Leliana's eyes and she could _feel_ the despair, the horror, the hopelessness of this future she and Dorian were trying to prevent.

"You're alive?" Leliana sounded incredulous.

"It's all right now," Zanneth said, knowing she must say _something_. "You're safe now."

Leliana huffed out a dark laugh. "Safe? No one is _safe_ – ah!" The spymaster let out a cry of pain as Cassandra released one wrist. Leliana's arm dropped like she couldn't even hold it up. It made sense. Who knew how long her arms had been suspended above her head, holding her weight? Her feet barely touched the floor. Was there bloodflow there? Could she even feel her fingers anymore? How were her shoulders holding up, with most of her weight borne upon them?

"I'm sorry you have been through so much," Zanneth tried again.

"_This_ pain is bearable," Leliana responded, only grunting as Cassandra freed her other hand. The warrior caught her associate before she fell to the floor, shoring her up until she could support herself on her two feet.

"Who is she?" Dorian asked, close and quiet so the two human women wouldn't hear him.

"She is our spymaster," Zanneth whispered, watching Cassandra fuss and check over Leliana. "Her agents are the ones you snuck into the castle with."

"I see," he said, nodding. Then, suddenly, he was sweeping past Zanneth. As he strode forward, he reached up, pulling his satchel over his head before unclasping the buckles at his shoulders.

"Here," he said, whisking the robe he wore right off. Beneath he wore black hose and a thin white tunic, both rather tight, but adequate to cover him. He held out his hand, his robe within it. Leliana looked at it like it was a snake, her eyes traveling up to Dorian as if he had just sprouted a second head.

"Please, I insist you take this," he said again, shaking his head in the negative, as if denying that she could do anything but accept his offer.

Instead of Leliana, it was Cassandra who took the robe from him. "She is deaf, Dorian," the warrior said, gruff, though not unkind. "Thank you for this, however."

A few moments of ginger handling had Leliana wrapped in the robe.

"Thank you," she murmured, inclining her head to Dorian.

"I… you're welcome." He paused, seeming unsure, before speaking once more, this time keeping still so Leliana could read his lips. "Aren't… aren't you curious as to what happened? Alexius threw us into the future. It's not what he intended, but that's the size of it. I can undo the spell, or recreate it, if we can get his amulet from him. Do you know where he is?"

Leliana scoffed. "And mages always wonder why people are so afraid of them. This one man with this one power that _no one_ should have did all this damage…"

"I can undo it," Dorian insisted. "I-"

"Enough." Leliana's tone brooked no argument. "This can wait. This is not real to you. You think you can simply undo it and no one will have suffered. _I_ suffered. _Everyone_ suffered. My… my love suffers still…" She choked out her last words, but a sob did not pass her lips. Instead, she turned away. "Cassandra. Look. She is here."

Zanneth moved around as Cassandra and Leliana walked together to the far end of the chamber. The Seeker gasped. Leliana let out a desperate whimper, falling to her knees. Knowing the state of her knees, the very act caused Zanneth to wince in sympathy.

The elf continued forward until she could see what had the two women's attention. What could have caused Leliana to willingly submit herself to such discomfort? Surely she bled from the likely pull of her skin from the red lyrium jutting from her knees?

An involuntary gasp left the elf's lips, immediately followed by a choked sound from Dorian.

Upon the floor was a woman, as far as Zanneth could tell. Long white hair, matted and dirty, sprung from her scalp. Her skin was dark like that of Vivienne and Josephine, some kind of mark or tattoo upon her face. Unlike Leliana, this woman was clothed, though her shirt was so filthy that it would have made the woman _cleaner _to take the garment from her. The woman was human, as evidenced by her dark skin – no elf had dark skin that Zanneth had ever heard tell of. But her humanity mattered not. The poor woman. Zanneth could not even imagine.

Just like Fiona, this woman was half-consumed by red lyrium.

"Leli?"

The woman looked up, her eyes milky orbs. She had been blinded, the scars that led to lines through her eyes making it clear it had been done _to_ her, and not a natural occurrence. Her voice was rough, like she had spent a good deal of time shouting. Her face was beseeching, her white brows knit. Her hands were chained to the wall, but still she sought to reach, pulling the chains tight.

"I am here, my love," Leliana said, her voice somewhere between a whisper and a sob.

_This… this is the arcane warrior Cassandra spoke of. The one who went missing before the Conclave. She and Leliana are lovers. This… this is her fate?_

_But this means she is alive in my time! The Inquisition needs her! And Leliana, cold and alone and lost, needs her. She is the Hero of Ferelden. We all need her help._

_And clearly, she also needs ours._

Leliana lifted a hand to the woman's face. The arcane warrior leaned into the caress. "Leli, they're coming. They're coming for you! I can see them!"

"No one is coming for me, Solona. We have friends here."

"No! No!" The woman began to thrash. "I can see their blades! They come for you! Why do you hold me back?!"

Leliana leaned farther forward, her other hand wrapping around Solona's neck in a tender embrace. She was unafraid of the thrashing of her lover. "Hush, my love. No one is coming. I am safe. They hold me captive no more. They cannot hurt me. They cannot hurt you."

"Truly?"

Leliana sniffed as she caressed the woman's cheek. "Yes, my love. We are safe. It is over."

"You will scream no more?"

Leliana shook her head. "No," she said, her voice making it clear she was beginning to cry. "No more screams."

"Thank the Maker."

"Yes," the redhead said. "Yes. Thank the Maker."

"I love you, Leli."

"I… I love you, too, Solona."

With a sudden, savage display of strength, Leliana snapped the woman's neck, ending her sham of a life in one swift move.

Zanneth could only stare. Killing Fiona was one thing. The woman had _asked_ for it. But this woman… this woman had clearly gone _mad_.

_It is a mercy. If I were that way… I would hope that someone who said they loved me would kill me. She held her love, assured her that, in the end, it was all right, that they were safe, and then she ended it before any other single thing could be known by that poor, blind woman. And the last thing she heard from her love's lips… was __**love**__._

_It was a mercy._

She kept that thought in her mind as she watched Leliana regain her feet.

Cassandra reached out a hand. "Leliana…"

"We do not have time to grieve," the spymaster said, her voice cold, and her demeanor colder. Clearly, this was her cloak, her armor against the world, holding her emotions in tight to be dealt with later. "It was a mercy. They kept her there, blinded her, and then made her listen while they tortured me. I had to… I _had_ to stay strong. I could not let her hear me _cave_." Her voice faltered, but never did her expression change from the hard line set to her lips. "They drove her mad long before this, cut her off from the Fade and _played_ with her mind. But listening to me… it was the final straw I think. It was a _mercy_, Cassandra. And now we must go. We have suffered, but I would have our former selves have a _different_ future."

Her blue eyes with the red glow met Zanneth's. "Come, Herald of Andraste. Let us leave this place."

With one last look at the dead, half-consumed Hero of Ferelden, still chained to the wall, head at an impossible angle, Zanneth nodded and turned, leading her small party out of the room.

* * *

Dorian walked behind Leliana, staring at her back. Zanneth could not be sure, but she thought that he looked cowed. He had grown quiet. His shoulders seemed downcast. His whole demeanor was just… _subdued_. What was it he thought about? Why stare at Leliana as he did so? Surely he had not _known_ that woman Leliana had just killed with her own hands?

They passed into a larger room. Red lyrium grew out of the walls, looking like the cancerous growths one sometimes found in people and animals. It set Zanneth's teeth on edge. Dorian and Leliana went to the door on the other side of the room, finding that it was locked and conferring on how to get it open.

"Zanneth, wait."

The elf turned, seeing Cassandra had hung back at the entrance. A quick glance showed her that Leliana now knelt at the locked door, using the quill of a pen she'd found and the thin stiletto Dorian kept for herb lore to pick the lock. Moving back across the room, Zanneth came to stand before the warrior.

"Yes, Cassandra?"

She immediately found a cool palm upon her cheek. Almost without thought, Zanneth leaned into the touch. She found herself enfolded into Cassandra's arms, and she did nothing to stop it, rather wrapping her own arms around the warrior's too-thin waist and holding tightly to her.

"I just… need to touch you," the Seeker said, her voice muffled by Zanneth's hair. "What we just witnessed…"

Zanneth stayed still, breathing in Cassandra's almost overwhelming scent, letting the woman find her words.

The warrior exhaled, her whole body shaking, before continuing. "I held their love up as the ideal, like the love in the stories. They were each other's safe harbor. They shared a bond, a trust so deep that even when Solona was missing, Leliana did not stray. Her love did not waver. Never did she doubt Solona's love for her, or her devotion. I aspired to have that one day. I never did with the man I loved in my youth and into my middle age, not like that. Duty always prevailed. I thought perhaps I might with you, in my wildest, most desperate dreams, before you disappeared. Now you are returned to me, and she has had to end the life of the one she loves the most. I cannot… it is not _fair_, and yet all I wish to do is touch you and hold you and reassure myself that _her_ fate is mine no longer!"

By Cassandra's tone, it was clear she berated herself. The poor woman. She beat upon herself for being glad she did not suffer Leliana's fate. Anyone would be glad to not suffer Leliana's fate. That Leliana was still standing and not wracked with grief… Zanneth did not know how the woman did it. She knew compartmentalizing things was often required, but that level of it… the Herald did not envy the spymaster the need.

Cassandra finally tried to pull away, to release Zanneth, but the elf did not allow it. "No, please," she murmured, looking up into those pale brown eyes, a red glow cast upon them that Zanneth could barely _stand_. It filled her with rage, making her determined to ensure this future did not come to pass.

Reaching up, Zanneth palmed Cassandra's cheek, the pads of her fingers caressing the deep scar there, obtained while protecting Leliana. Reaching behind Cassandra's neck, Zanneth pulled the warrior, _her_ warrior, into a kiss, drawing her tongue out so she might taste her.

The Herald's knees almost gave at the sensations: the taste, the scent, the warmth, the nearly overpowering _thud_ of blood pounding deep in her belly. Cassandra confused and delighted her by turns, and this was only their third kiss. The human possessed such ardor, pouring all of her passion into the kisses they shared. Everything the Seeker did in relation to the Herald thrilled her, filled her with desire: the way she gripped Zanneth's body, possessive but not overbearing; the way her body moved against the elf's with abandon, fitting to her like they were made to complement each other's shape; the way she could not seem to breathe deeply enough of the Herald's scent or taste long enough of the Herald's mouth. Zanneth's heart beat against her ribs and her mind swirled. She reeled from the sensations, and from the swirl of emotions she could barely begin to unravel, but she could not stop, could not make it stop even if she so desired.

For she wanted this. She didn't want it to end. Cassandra… for this solitary moment, the human was her _world_ and she was happy for it.

But the moment ended, all too soon, it seemed. They parted panting, eyes locked on each other, hands holding to the other with equal firmness, equal desperation.

What truly ended the moment, however, was the cluck of Leliana's tongue. "So glad to see you _finally_ said something, Cassandra," the redhead said, her expression serious despite the levity present in her tone. Then the woman's eyes snapped to Zanneth's, her expression that same thin line of determination. "Do us all a favor and _bed her_ when you get back to your time, will you?" She turned, now bearing Zanneth's hunting knife and Dorian's stiletto – weapons were a difficult resource at the moment. "Come. The way is open."

* * *

Zanneth stood, panting. Her arrows were all but exhausted. The air was thick, humid, sweltering. The muck upon the ground slowed her steps, trying to trip her and make her slide as she ran. But she couldn't slow. If Cassandra and Leliana could do this, in the state they were in, then so, too, could the elven huntress.

The chamber in which the four of them fought was full of demons. There was what appeared to be a Fade rift in the middle of the room, but Zanneth had not gotten close enough to do anything about it yet. And she was tiring. They needed a different strategy.

As soon as she had killed a guard leading into this room, Cassandra had a weapon more suited to her size and strength - a two-handed axe with a wicked edge. She moved through the fetid room, swinging the axe with a precision Zanneth would never have imagined possible for such a weapon, except when wielded by someone like Bull. The Seeker was releasing holy terror upon the demons that seemed to be running wild in this room outside the great hall.

Leliana, too, was a force to be reckoned with, seeming to be venting her wrath, her frustration, her grief, upon the creatures in this room. Despite her seeming frailty, her clear undernourishment, her physical pain and discomfort from torture and from the red lyrium growing from her knees, the spymaster flowed through the battlefield like water. She threw herself bodily into larger opponents, overbalancing them before slashing with daggers taken from the guards outside.

Zanneth now held her sword once more, having nearly exhausted her arrow supply. She could salvage many arrows later, but for now she must ration. The demons were not difficult to conquer. She knew each of their tactics, and Solas's advice had proved accurate so far – once a pattern was established, demons did not stray. But the demons seemed ceaseless, whereas Zanneth's energy was flagging.

They _must_ come up with a strategy.

Lashing out, Zanneth took a demon in the throat. It shrieked before seeming to shrink. As it dissipated into nothingness, the elf ran past it, seizing her chance to get close to Cassandra.

"I must get to the rift!" she shouted as the warrior finished off a great, molten creature.

"I know!" Cassandra shouted back, fiery brown eyes finding Zanneth's. "Dorian and Leliana do not know! They did not fight these with us before!"

Zanneth nodded. She understood Cassandra's meaning. When she and the Seeker would close a rift with the others, they all knew Zanneth needed to get close, and thus the others must distract the demons with that goal in mind. Leliana and Dorian knew no such thing. They fought demons now, but Zanneth was clearly not on their minds. Their goal seemed to be to simply kill demons, not to get Zanneth close enough to the rift to close it. They needed to communicate this somehow.

Dorian they could shout to. But how to get Leliana's attention?

Pulling one of the three arrows she had left, Zanneth let Cassandra defend her as she took aim. Forcing her breath to calm, the elf sighted Leliana down the shaft before releasing the bowstring. An instant later, the spymaster's long braid was severed by the razor-sharp head of Zanneth's arrow, leaving her hair at ragged, uneven lengths about her neck.

It had been dangerous, and perhaps foolish, but it had also been effective. Waving, Zanneth was able to get the ferocious, dagger-wielding redhead to come close after she finished off her current opponent.

"Dorian! Come close!" Cassandra shouted, lunging and slashing with her axe. Another shriek, another demon dead. Zanneth pulled her sword once more. The hilt was starting to feel familiar in her grasp. Perhaps necessity was indeed the key ingredient in getting her comfortable with this more up-close style of fighting?

"Protect Zanneth!" the Seeker shouted, lips clearly visible to Leliana as the spymaster drew close. "They will keep coming until we are dead if she does not close this rift!"

Dorian and Leliana both nodded, and then Zanneth found herself roughly circled by her three companions, their fighting turned to defense of the Herald. "Move!" Cassandra yelled, addressing Zanneth even as she moved to block the wickedly spiked forearm of a demon. "We will follow!"

Zanneth didn't need telling twice. She began to move the whole group, foot by foot, until her hand spiked with pain. The light flared, the familiar sizzling sensation took hold, and when the elf lifted her hand, that same hot, healing, rushing flood of light left her hand, seeming to originate in her back and shoulders. The rift closed almost immediately, a burst of light traveling away from her in all directions, killing and scattering the remains of all demons throughout the room.

The green light sputtered and died, leaving only the strong glow from Zanneth's hand behind to illuminate the entirety of the room. It was not strong enough to reach the walls. How strange that now the seeming ubiquitous green light would be so no longer.

"Well," Dorian said, breaking the sudden and almost overbearing silence that followed the closure of the rift. "Let's not do that again, yes?"

Cassandra shook her head, straightening, letting her weapon fall to the ground. Suddenly, the warrior's knees gave, and she crashed to the floor.

"Cassandra!" Zanneth was at her side in a heartbeat. "What is wrong?"

"I'm okay," the warrior said, though she sounded exhausted. "I simply… the rush of battle can only sustain for so long. I have not eaten in days. No water since yesterday…"

"I am an idiot," Zanneth murmured, reaching for her pack. Pulling it around to the front, she took from it the small canteen and satchel of nuts and dried fruit she kept with her on the trail, for safety's sake. "Here," she said, giving the food to Cassandra before standing and finding Leliana.

"What is this?" the spymaster said, brows knit.

"You must be parched, half-starved. I completely forgot I have a few small supplies. It isn't much… but it should boost your reserves."

"The concept of reserves is laughable at this point… but thank you," Leliana said, inclining her head as she took the canteen. After several drinks, she and Cassandra switched.

As they refreshed themselves, Zanneth began the task of finding those arrows that were still useable, Dorian accompanying her so he could speak with her.

"I think I have figured out part of what is going on here," he murmured.

"Oh? In regards to...?"

"Magic. The Fade. That mark on your hand. It closes the rifts, yes? Rifts into the Fade. That rift you just closed… it was different than the one in the Chantry in Redcliffe."

Zanneth nodded. "That is true. It was… faint, somehow. And it closed far more quickly than normal."

"Precisely. Based on that, and the sheer _number_ of demons … I think the Breach grew, and it thinned the Veil to the extent that the Fade is _very_ close to this world. In fact, in some places, they meet, I think. With the Veil so thin, my magic has come to me with merely a _thought_, no words or incantations necessary. And the light in the room is less, like it no longer surrounds us. Did you notice?"

"Yes," the elf said, standing with the last useful arrow she could find. "I had noticed that. I was wondering about it, in fact."

"I think we have been _surrounded by the Breach_. It's… _everywhere_."

Zanneth was stunned. "How did it grow? The mark hasn't been here to call it to do anything. I…"

"I could be wrong," Dorian said. "But something more than the invasion of Orlais is different, that much is clear. My _magic_ is different. Having a tie-in with the Breach… well, it makes sense. And in this future, you were never able to close the Breach. Alexius's time magic would have made the very fabric of time unstable. Who knows what could happen? The Breach growing seems like a rather _minor_ symptom, if you ask me."

"I have little knowledge of all of this," Zanneth admitted. "My grandmother is my clan's Keeper, but I hold no magic myself, and neither did my mother, her daughter." She paused, watching Cassandra and Leliana speak with each other as they depleted Zanneth's meager stores. "What I really want to know is if this knowledge helps or hinders us in any way."

"Other than making my magic more available to me – and therefore making it more available to Alexius when we meet him – I can't possibly begin to guess. But more information is always more useful than less."

"True."

Their conversation was cut short by Cassandra rising to her feet. Zanneth left Dorian's side with a murmured word of apology, moving back to the Right and Left Hands of the Divine.

"How are you feeling?" Zanneth asked, taking the now-empty satchel and canteen held out to her.

"Better," Cassandra said. "Thank you."

"Thank you," Leliana repeated. "But I am afraid we must move. Solona had gone mad, but her madness was often accurate. She could foresee what they would do to me in that room. When I could see her face, I could read some of her words, and then whatever nightmare she spoke of would be visited upon me. She experienced each of those torturous things twice… I fear something indeed comes for us. Something has been alerted to your presence here. I fear it is the Elder One."

"The Elder One?" Dorian and Zanneth exchanged a glance, but it was clear neither could enlighten the other.

"The master of the Venatori," Cassandra said, recalling Zanneth's attention. The warrior's hand ventured out, catching Zanneth's left hand and bringing it up for examination. "He is the one who opened the Breach, murdering the Divine at the Conclave. It was _he_ who assassinated Empress Celene and called a demon army to sweep across southern Thedas. He is the master in this place. It is at his command that we are turned to red lyrium or tortured for information. Resistance results in more pain." Her fingers strayed to Zanneth's palm, seeming to try to touch the light that emanated from within. "This mark would thwart his plans. It worked in his favor for you to disappear before you closed the Breach."

Light brown eyes snapped up to hers, and Zanneth's heart gave a kick. "But he will find that you are not so easily defeated. So many times you should not have survived. You were beaten. You had everything stripped from you. Yet still you recovered and threw yourself out again and again, to close rifts and vanquish _dragons_. You can do what no one else can. We will get you back. You will keep this madness from ever coming to be. I know you will."

"Yes," Zanneth said. "I promise, I will do everything I can to stop this."

"And you, Tevinter," Cassandra said, looking past Zanneth to Dorian, even as she laced her fingers with the elf's. "You will undo this magic and return yourselves to the time in which you belong. You will make up for your former master's evils."

"I will do everything in my power, yes," he said, utterly serious in a way Zanneth had not witnessed in him until Fiona's death.

"Come," Leliana said, turning and moving for the giant door at the top of the stairs. "I recognize this. This is the entrance to the great hall. This is where we found Connor as a child, possessed by a demon and wreaking havoc upon the castle and the inhabitants of the village."

"It's locked," Zanneth said when they reached the landing. She pushed and pulled at the door, Cassandra at the adjacent one. Neither would move.

"I know how to open it," Leliana said, her lips pursed. "It… it requires red lyrium. They did not know I could see their lips, and spoke of it in front of me with abandon."

"So, what, we take some off the walls?" Dorian said, eyes already on a large growth of the stuff nearby.

Leliana's laugh held no mirth. "He would not make it so _easy_! I can see the mechanism. It requires a shard, long and thin. Can you make it the proper shape from that deposit?"

Dorian furrowed his brow. "Perhaps with some time…"

"Time is something we do not have. We must go. _Now_. And I know just how to open this. Though… it will not be pleasant."

Hiking up her robe, Leliana reached for her kneecap, placing Dorian's stiletto within a crack in the material. Zanneth winced in sympathy. Blood ran down Leliana's shins from where flesh had pulled away from lyrium. Some of it was dried, but plenty of it was fresh, from the battle with the demons from the rift. In fact, her lower legs showed more red than skin at this point. How she continued on… _How? How is she doing this? What sustains her?_

"It must be taken from a live subject," Leliana breathed. "Only then is it fresh enough to form as is needed."

Fingers grasping, Leliana took a deep breath. On the exhale, she snapped the knife, grunting in pain but coming away with a long, thin shard. Dropping the hem of Dorian's robes, she pushed the sliver of red lyrium into the locking mechanism.

The thud of the lock springing open resounded through the room.

Leliana placed her hand on the door. "Let us finish this," she said, and pushed the door open.

* * *

_A/N the second: So, if you are a fan of or know Solona... I'm truly sorry. Trust me, it hurt me more than it hurt you._

_If you don't know her... well, hurry up and go read Forbidden Magic! ;)_


	27. Something Wicked This Way Comes

_A/N: A thank you for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. I am so glad you are all enjoying this fic so much. And I'm tickled by all the guessing that's going on in the reviews._

_Onward!_

* * *

The crash of the doors opening resonated through the great hall. Zanneth recognized the room, though its resemblance to the hall she had entered that morning – _This morning? Not three hours ago? A year ago? This is far too confusing_ – was but vaguely similar. No more tapestries of proud Ferelden history adorned the walls: of warriors and mabari, of Ferelden ousting Orlais, of Grey Wardens against darkspawn. Instead, red lyrium sprang from the stone.

The floor, at least, was not covered by muck and grime here. Instead, the entire hall was kept clean. The only adornment, aside from the red lyrium growths, was the throne upon the dais. Zanneth's eyes swept the great hall, looking for foes. She saw none. It was just the two figures atop the stairs, one crouched, the other standing and staring into the roaring hearth. If Zanneth had to guess, she would say that she looked upon Geron and Felix Alexius.

"Alexius!" Dorian shouted, trying to get the man's attention.

He didn't turn around.

"I knew you would turn up again," they heard instead, the voice accompanying the small party of four as they moved into the hall. It was, indeed, Alexius speaking. "I didn't know that it would be _now_, only that I did not destroy you. My final _failure_…"

This man was broken. The Tevinter Magister Zanneth had faced only hours before had been so confident. He had wielded his magic, _certain_ he would undo whatever "mistake" had happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. But the man before her… had given up. The set of his shoulders, the tone of his voice, the very words he chose made this clear to the elf.

"You have ruined _everything_!" Zanneth cried, trying to appeal to whatever might be left of his humanity. "And for what? What was the purpose of all this heartache? The torture? The killing?" Zanneth was angry. He had hurt the people she had come to care for. And what of her clan in this dark future? Was her grandmother rounded up and turned to lyrium? The men and women she had grown up with? Their children? She wasn't sure she had a future among them anymore, but still she cared about _their_ future.

The more she thought about it, the angrier the Herald became.

Alexius, however, didn't answer her, and still he did not turn around to look at them.

"Face us like a man, Alexius!" Dorian shouted again. This time, it seemed to have an effect, and Alexius pushed himself away from the hearth. His hood was pushed back, showing his disheveled hair, his receding hairline, the firelight throwing the lines on his face into deep shadow.

"What is it, Dorian? What could you possibly have to say to me that you have not already said? You had so many words for me when we parted ways."

Dorian strode forward, leaving the others behind. They fanned out as he approached his former master, shouting in a language Zanneth could not understand. Alexius merely stood under the barrage, letting the words wash over him. He was resigned to whatever fate brought to him.

Suddenly, Leliana lunged forward. In her focus on Alexius, Zanneth had barely paid heed to the crouched figure by the throne. But now, as the spymaster pulled the figure up and held a dagger to its throat, she saw that it was, indeed, Felix.

He looked diseased. He stood limply, seemingly unconcerned about the dagger at his throat. His eyes were vacant, his mouth half-open, his skin pale. Dark lines stood out under his skin, seeming to trace his veins through his body. He didn't speak. He merely… _stood_ there while Leliana held him hostage.

Felix's father, however, reacted immediately. Almost seeming to jump into activity, Alexius turned, reaching toward Leliana. He was, however, smart enough not to step toward her. "No! Don't! My son!"

"Maker's blood – that's _Felix_?!" Dorian asked, incredulous. "What did you _do_ to him, Alexius?"

"I saved him! Please, don't hurt him, I'll do anything you ask! Anything you want!"

Leliana's voice was deadly. "Why? Why all the torture? What were you looking for?"

"The Elder One demanded answers!" Alexius almost shouted, panic clear in his voice, his eyes fixed upon Leliana's weapon. He did not notice both Dorian and Cassandra silently close upon him from behind. "He knew I failed to kill the Herald; that she would show up again. He demanded to know how she knew to intervene at the Conclave! Fiona did not know. The qunari, the dwarf, the elf – none of them knew! I thought… I thought perhaps _you_ would know, as the spymaster! And… and I had something that would make you _talk_…"

"She is dead," Leliana said, her voice cutting as deep as any knife. "I put her out of her misery." She looked upon him for a moment. Felix still did not struggle. Truly, whatever he was, Zanneth would never call it _living_. "You were a fool to think I would say anything, even if I knew it. If you had done your research, you would know that _nothing_ would break the seal of my lips. And now… now I will take from you what you have taken from me."

"No!" Alexius shouted, stepping forward, still reaching out. "The Elder One is coming! For me, for you, for us all! I failed to get him the information he wanted! Please, I will give you _anything_ you ask for! Just let me have these last moments with my son!"

Leliana's eyes narrowed. "I want the world back, _snake_." With a vicious pull, she sliced Felix's throat, stepping back as he fell to the ground, blood pooling around him.

"No!" Alexius shouted again, his hands swirling with energy. "You _bitch_!"

Zanneth moved to block Alexius from getting to Leliana. As she did so, she heard Cassandra mutter an apology to Dorian before she saw the warrior shove the mage to the side. Her lips moved, and then the very air seemed to crackle. Alexius and Dorian both cried out, falling to their knees.

Then Zanneth was knocked to the side, and Leliana rushed past her. Taking three steps forward, Leliana buried both of her blades deep within Alexius's chest. Cassandra immediately halted her chanting, turning and kneeling next to Dorian, who clutched his own chest and groaned in pain. Zanneth watched from where she had landed upon her rump. Alexius died with hurt in his eyes, but at the last, those eyes flickered to her own, and within them, Zanneth found peace. He would be with his son again, in the afterlife.

Given the damage he had caused, Zanneth almost wished she could drag him back and suspend _him_ from the ceiling. Almost.

Pushing the thought aside, Zanneth found her feet, rushing to Dorian and Cassandra's side. "What did you do?" the elf asked.

"As a Seeker, I can set the lyrium in all mages' and templars' blood aflame," the warrior said, helping Dorian to his feet. "It was the only way I could see to cripple his magic and save us all. I am sorry, Dorian. It is not something I can direct – everyone in a certain radius is affected. I stopped it as soon as I could and still keep us all safe. You shouldn't experience any permanent damage."

"Good to know it isn't permanent," Dorian said, accepting the helping hand despite what Cassandra had just explained to him. "Because it feels like a qunari is sitting upon my chest."

Zanneth found herself smiling, inexplicably. Even in the most horrid of situations, this man could find reason to jest. In a way, Zanneth admired it. Even heartbreak and betrayal could not cripple him. Or perhaps this wasn't the worst betrayal he'd experienced?

The room shook, a dull _thud_ traveling through the stones and up through Zanneth's chest.

"The Elder One," Leliana whispered. "Alexius said he comes. You appeared when he would be coming for the Magister who failed him."

"Give me the amulet around his neck," Dorian said, pushing off from Cassandra's support, holding his hand out toward the spymaster. "If only I had an hour…"

"An hour?!" Leliana said, incredulous. She tossed the amulet to him. "You have _minutes only_!"

"I know! I was just saying… blast it, never mind," Dorian said, shaking his head. "It's not important. Give me a moment, and I will do what I can to work this magic." He took a deep breath. "If only my energy had not just been depleted by a Seeker of Truth who can set my _blood_ on fire," he mumbled, unheard by Cassandra. Zanneth, however, could hear him. She understood his frustration, but could not muster a laugh. The room shook once again.

Cassandra and Leliana conferred briefly, in a soft, flowing language Zanneth could not understand. Then the warrior was at her side, drawing her into a tight embrace.

"Dear one," she said as she pulled away, looking deep into Zanneth's eyes. "We will hold the door, buy you and Dorian some time. It won't be much, but… but you must get back. You _must_ survive. You can stop this from ever happening."

Zanneth's heart gave a kick. She panicked. Reaching up, she clutched at the warrior's bare shoulders in despair. The Seeker's hands gripped her hair and her arm, seeming desperate not to lose physical contact.

"Cassandra… I can't… I can't leave you here!" The reality of her situation hit her like a physical blow, leaving her reeling. She couldn't take Cassandra with her. This Cassandra had no place in her own _past_, and a different past from the one Zanneth would return to. There was no place for these two people and the few hours of affection they had shared. Zanneth would have to start over. She could not… she could not…

"_Make_ me see," Cassandra said, holding the elf's gaze with her own. "Take me aside and make me see what happened here, what is at stake. When you return, please… please force my hand. For I already love you, Zanneth. And if I can only do my past-self _one_ favor, it is to make her see that love is a wonderful thing that she should not put off one moment longer than necessary. Please, Zanneth… please, make me see."

Zanneth could only nod, swallowing the sob that wished to break free. She pulled the Seeker down into one last, desperate kiss, shaking her head when the woman tried to break free. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, and Zanneth felt her feet leave the ground for a moment.

Finally, they parted, desperate for air. "I love you, Zanneth," Cassandra whispered, harsh, then released her.

"I… I love you, too, Cassandra," the elf managed to say, knowing the words to be true as they fell from her lips.

The warrior smiled, holding her axe before her. "Thank you." Then she turned, heading out the door and closing it behind her.

Leliana immediately dropped the bar over the door. "You lock her out?!" Zanneth shouted, incredulous. But, of course, Leliana did not hear her. Zanneth shook her head. Cassandra would do what she could. When she could no longer fight, when she was… dead… then the defense fell to Leliana, inside the door.

"I'm almost ready," Dorian said. Zanneth turned around, seeing green energies swirling in front of him, the amulet floating above his hand. "We get one chance at this. Don't move from where you are. I don't need any more variables than I already have."

Zanneth nodded, swallowing. A voice whispered in her head as she looked back to Leliana, standing ready with her daggers. _"You are the first I've seen better with a bow than Sister Leliana."_ The voice was Cassandra's. On a whim, as the pounding thud began to sound upon the door and the spymaster glanced back to check on Zanneth and Dorian, the elf made a decision.

Tears in her eyes, Zanneth tossed her mother's hunting bow to Leliana, who caught it with little effort. The quiver of arrows followed shortly. No words were exchanged, but Zanneth could see it in the spymaster's eyes: she knew the profound meaning of this gift. Zanneth would never get it back. This piece of her past, her family… it would never, ever be in her hands again.

And she offered it willingly.

Leliana turned as the doors visibly swelled with the pounding sound. "Go!" the redhead shouted, throwing the quiver over her back before pulling from it. "You have as much time as I have arrows!"

"Don't move!" Dorian shouted, just as Zanneth made to take a step, to try to help Leliana, to help Cassandra. Tears flowed freely down her face. But this was it. This was their only desperate chance.

The doors burst open. A long, spindly creature, looking as though it were made of wood, like some demonic tree, was revealed first. In its terrible grasp was Cassandra's lifeless body, arms and legs turned at an impossible angle. The demon shrieked, then threw Cassandra's body aside. Zanneth finally let out a sob, her eyes following the lolling corpse as it hit the ground and slid.

Then the demon was screaming in pain, an arrow protruding from its face. It shrank, but Zanneth did not watch its slow demise. Instead, her gaze was caught by Leliana. She recited something, perhaps a piece of the Chant? Arrows sang in her hands, each finding its target. Still the demon army came, until Leliana used the bow as a bludgeoning melee weapon. Zanneth was riveted. She had never seen someone fight so flawlessly, undeterred by her enemy's proximity, hitting anything that came within reach of her. Leliana was _fearless_.

"Now! Go!"

Zanneth turned and ran at Dorian's direction. She would undo this. She would get to Cassandra. She would find the Hero of Ferelden. And she would _end_ Alexius utterly.

* * *

Zanneth was gone. The Herald had disappeared! What happened to her? How would they get her back? What would they do about the Breach?

Cassandra panicked. _What will I do without her?_

"Noooo!" the warrior shouted, pulling her sword. She never got the chance to wield it, however. A blast of energy hit her square in the chest, knocking her off her feet. She hit the stone floor of the great hall with her back, _hard_, knocking the wind from her. A novice or someone with less practice, less discipline, might have panicked, or stayed upon the ground until he caught his breath. But Cassandra was made of sterner stuff. If being knocked upon the ground and having the wind knocked out of her had stopped her, she would have been dead already.

Pushing to her feet, Cassandra made sure to get her breathing into a rhythm, forcing herself to relax even as she stooped to regain her weapon. Her eyes were on Alexius.

Projectiles had already been hurled toward the Magister, presumably from Varric, Sera, and the others. Cassandra didn't much like the company of either the dwarf or the elf, but she could not argue that their aim was true. None of the arrows or crossbow bolts that had been fired reached their target, however, instead hitting some invisible barrier and falling to the ground.

Even with all his Venatori killed, Geron Alexius was clearly a mage of great power and talent. This would be a long battle, particularly if they wanted him _alive_.

_I very much want him alive,_ Cassandra thought, getting her breathing under control as she watched the wild-eyed Magister turn, flames bursting from his outstretched palms. _After I have Zanneth back, however… I will personally wring his __**neck**_.

Before she could advance, however, the air began to swirl around them all. Green light flared, and then suddenly a vortex appeared in the very _air_ behind Alexius. A wave of force pushed out, knocking Alexius off his feet. Cassandra felt the wave buffet her, but she was far enough away not to lose her purchase upon the ground. She began running forward. She must not let him regain his balance, or his magic would be devastating.

She stopped dead in her tracks when the vortex spat out both Zanneth and Dorian, however.

Cassandra's heart skipped a beat. _She is alive!_

The elf looked _haunted_. She was covered in grime, her skin gleaming with sweat. Both of her eyes were black and purple, indicating that, at some point, her nose had been broken. _What in the Maker's name happened?_ Dorian was inexplicably missing his robes, wearing merely hose and tunic, both stained with grime just like Zanneth. Neither bore weapons, but it did not seem to matter. Before Cassandra could even begin to move once more, both elf and Tevinter mage were rounding on Alexius.

Dorian's hand shot out, fisting his former master's robes and bringing their faces _very_ close. "You are an absolute _disgrace_, Alexius," the mage said, his voice hard, his whole demeanor a force to be reckoned with. "You are lucky Felix is here, or I would kill you where we stand with _no_ qualms whatsoever."

At his name, Felix approached behind Dorian, looking at his father over the man's shoulder. "It's over, Father." He held the amulet Alexius had used to cause this trouble.

"Felix," Alexius said, brows knitting with concern. "You'll… you'll die." The fight had left him.

Tone hard, Felix answered his father. "Everybody dies."

Cassandra finally forced herself to move forward. "Release him, Dorian. We will-"

"He must be executed."

It was Zanneth who spoke, voice flat, deadly sounding. Cassandra had never heard such a thing issue from the elf's mouth. It was… worrisome, possibly frightening.

"He must have a fair trial-" Cassandra began, marching forward. But she stopped abruptly when Zanneth rounded on her, demeanor embodying the destruction promised in the tone of her voice.

"You don't know what he _did_!" the elf shouted.

The great hall, capable of echoing a small racket to a cacophonous level, was utterly silent after that proclamation, only Zanneth's voice ringing around them. As Cassandra watched the elf, the haunted anger melted away. She could not read the Herald's expression, but tears welled in her eyes, and her bottom lip began to tremble. Before she looked away, Cassandra could have sworn she saw her own name whispered upon the elven huntress's lips.

"Cullen," Zanneth said, though it was clear to anyone who could hear that it was a demand, an order for the commander's presence.

He obeyed. "Yes, Herald?"

"You were a templar, yes?"

"Yes, Your Worship." He eyed Cassandra. She agreed: where had this sudden command in the Herald's voice come from?

"Take him into custody, and ensure he does no more harm. Kill him if he so much as bats at an insect," Zanneth said, before turning her back on the man. Dorian released him, and Cullen marched forward, incanting almost silently. Cassandra felt the air stir, saw Alexius visibly weaken. He looked exhausted.

The Seeker had no pity to spare for him. He had clearly done _something_ terrible. She must get to Zanneth. She must find out what had befallen her and Dorian. They had only been gone a handful of minutes at most, yet they looked so… _different_ when they reappeared. No weapons, Dorian's robes missing, Zanneth bruised and bloodied. What had happened?

The quiet crash of crystal breaking came to her ear. She looked up to see Dorian and Felix had smashed the amulet upon the ground. Now Zanneth and Dorian marched away from the throne, purpose coloring their steps. Cassandra moved to a trot to catch up. "Zanneth, wait," she said as she drew closer. The elf stopped, but she would not turn, would not look upon Cassandra.

Before she could say anything else, Zanneth was speaking. "I know where she is, Cassandra," the elf intoned, voice flat, dull, like she was utterly exhausted. Which, from her appearance, she likely _was_.

"Who?" Cassandra asked.

"Leliana's lover, the arcane warrior." She finally turned, meeting Cassandra's eyes with her own hollow, exhausted gaze. "I know where the Hero of Ferelden is."


	28. The Hero Of Ferelden

_A/N: Holy crap you guys! You have 1) my hyperactive muse, and 2) Raven Sinead for having this ready so fast! I make you ready for more, but at least this time I deliver quickly!_

* * *

Darkness consumed her. Voices haunted her, teasing her, just out of reach. The dull _thud_ of her heart beating reminded her that, yes, she was still alive. Another day of torment. Another day without the Fade, another day without her near-constant supply of energy. Her muscles wilted, her drive gone, she could do nothing but stare at the wall and will it – unsuccessfully – to sprout clear blue eyes, falling red hair, and a laugh like the ringing of a bell.

It never worked.

The _thud_ of her heart gained an external element. Was it just her mind playing with her? This many days cut off from the Fade… she would go mad soon. She could feel it. The voices sounded more real. They were difficult to keep apart from actual sound.

Or _was_ it actual sound? The voices were growing louder. Were they true voices? What were they saying? Why could she not concentrate around that _infernal_ device?!

"… time… Alexius decimated… tortured…"

The voice was unfamiliar. But at the same time… perhaps she had heard it before. The buzzing was growing louder. It did that. Every time she began to concentrate on something other than blue eyes and red hair, the contraption in her cell began to glow, to fill her mind with buzzing, with images. It was cloying. It threatened to choke her. She found it easier to maintain her sanity if she emptied her mind, meditating.

Solona Amell _hated_ meditating.

Light appeared across her face. She cried out as the door to the room opened, cowering from the bright flare of a mage's staff. She tried to form the words, but the buzzing of the contraption was so loud in her head that she couldn't even think what they might be. She merely whimpered and cowered, trying to cover her face with hands chained to the wall.

Words were said, harsh and guttural, and then the light dimmed. Opening her eyes, Solona saw many people in the room. Usually there was only one. Alexius. _Some day I am going to __**kill**__ that bastard._ The buzzing increased once more as she thought the words.

"The key," someone said, but Solona could not look, could not concentrate. She merely stared at the blasted contraption filling her head with noise. _It_ cut her off from the Fade. _It_ kept her from concentrating enough to access her power. It was a clever device.

She _hated_ it.

Hands were at her wrists. She turned, seeing a familiar face attached to those hands. Who was it? Blast, she could not _think_!

One hand was free. Then the other. Solona closed her eyes. The noise was cacophonous. The buzzing made her feel as if her ears might bleed. She could not focus her eyes. The device. It was trying to kill her. She must. Break. Its. Hold.

With a mighty cry, Solona lunged forward, taking hold of the strange orb and flinging it against the wall of her cell. It shattered, its faint yellow glow immediately extinguishing.

All was suddenly quiet. Blissful, peaceful silence descended upon her mind. She crouched by the pedestal on which the artifact had sat, just _breathing_, letting the quiet seep in. There were no more voices. She could _think_.

"Solona?"

The mage's eyes snapped open, and she nearly fell back onto her rump. "Seeker?"

Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine and Seeker of Truth, knelt upon the _floor_ of Solona's cell. Solona couldn't even begin to figure out _why_.

"Solona, you… what's happened to you? Why are you in _Redcliffe_? Why are you captive? Why…?"

"Redcliffe?" Solona said, confused. "What in blazes…?"

"Cassandra, give her a moment." The voice belonged to the wielder of the dimly lit staff, a bald elven man. He knelt by the wall, examining the shard of the device Solona had just flung and shattered. "This was an old elven artifact. It… I'm not sure what it did. Perhaps she can tell us?"

Solona shook her head, trying to clear it and failing. "It filled my mind with… I cannot explain it. But it kept me from the Fade, from my power." She paused, looking up, finally able to focus upon everyone in the room. Besides Cassandra and the elven mage, there were three others in the room: one appeared to be elven, and the other two human. Focusing for a moment brought clarity, and this time she did fall onto her rump in shock.

"Cullen?" she whispered. She hadn't seen him in _years_. Not since the Circle, not since the Blight, had she seen his face. This was the man who held her down while they forcefully tattooed her face, marking her forever as apostate. "What in the Maker's holy knob are _you_ doing here?"

"It's a long story," said the other human figure, a chuckle in his voice at Solona's colorful use of the Maker's anatomy. The hairs on the back of Solona's neck immediately stood on end at the sound of his voice, however.

"You!" Solona was immediately on her feet, pushing past Cassandra and the elven mage, reaching for the bastard now scurrying away from her. "Get over here, you slimy little _cretin_!"

Strong hands took her arm. She tried to pull free, but she was considerably weakened. Her power called to her, and she could do nothing to deny it. She had lived without touching the Fade for _months_. It called to her like an old friend, or a lover.

Power rushed into her like water. She seemed to swell, and she raised her hand to get to the bastard who did this to her, who drugged her and turned her over to Alexius for months of _torturous_ captivity. But then a diminutive form entered her vision, holding its hand out toward her, and she stopped dead. It was an elf, Dalish, _vallaslin_ clear upon her pale skin. But what called the arcane warrior's attention wasn't her face. It was her _hair_.

The elf's hair was pure white.

Solona opened her mouth, and out came the multi-tonal voice she had not spoken with in months. "What new devilry is this?"

* * *

Solona sat with a bowl of clear broth and a small loaf of soft bread. It had been a long time since she had eaten anything more than the moldy leftovers sometimes shoved into her face by her keepers. They mocked her as they did so, and she had no choice but to chew and swallow and _seethe_. If she concentrated too hard, the buzzing filled her head, and she would nearly choke upon the food shoved into her mouth, unable to do anything but try to clear her mind.

This broth and bread… was _much_ better.

Cassandra sat with her. Everyone else had been sent away. The Seeker was trying to piece together what had happened. Solona wished she could help, but her memories since her capture were hazy at best.

One thing she remembered clear as day, however. "Dorian Pavus," she ground out, taking a bite of her bread. "That sniveling _weasel_ is the reason I have been captive for so long."

"What happened? How was _Dorian_ able to capture you? He is a powerful mage, but you are more powerful than any other mage you have come across."

Solona sighed, remembering that day.

. . .

_She is tired. So tired. She has traveled non-stop for __**months**__. She wants only to get back to Val Royeaux, back to Leliana and her embrace. Back to the Divine so that she can bow her head and whisper the words that will end her mission._

"_It is done."_

_And it __**is**__done. She has completed her task, as impossible as it was. It took nearly a year, but it is completed. She will simply take this one last night of rest, here on the border of Nevarra and the Imperium, before beginning the long trek home._

_Home, to her beloved Leliana. She can finally reveal all, and be done with the heavy weight of keeping information from her love. The mission was important, but she knows she hurt Leliana by leaving and not saying what she was doing or how long she would be gone. The Divine's directive had saved many lives. Leliana would see that._

_But she does not yet know._

_Solona sits at the inn, drinking an ale. It is bitter and lovely, washing away the dust and making her not care so much about her physical discomfort. Perhaps she will bathe in the frigid spring waters of the river on her way tomorrow. She misses the public bathhouses of Orlais. Nevarra has no such thing._

_A gentleman approaches the bar, slightly out of place for the village they're in. But then, so is Solona, with her height, her dark skin, and her pale grey eyes. The white hair is dyed, her facial tattoo covered with cosmetics. She longs to wash the blasted stuff off her skin and never wear it again. But in order to better blend in, and not be accosted by templars and agents of the Chantry, she must hide her apostate's mark and her bright white hair. She is much too recognizable, even disguised._

_The gentleman orders an ale, then meets Solona's eyes. He smiles. "Say," he says, winking, "such a striking woman surely doesn't belong in this dingy little tavern."_

_Solona snorts. "And what are __**you**__ doing here, then?"_

"_I'll have you know that my moustache is extraordinarily manly!" the man exclaims, all mock-affront._

"_Right. Just as my own appearance is ever-so feminine and womanly."_

"_Fair point," he says, taking his ale before turning fully to face Solona. "I am Dorian Pavus, visiting from Tevinter. Sometimes it's nice to visit the small places and fade into obscurity for a little while. Especially if I can spend my time with beautiful creatures such as yourself."_

_Solona laughed. "My dear man, I am spoken for! And not all that interested in men, besides."_

"_Pity. Men are good fun," Dorian says. "I ought to know, as I almost exclusively prefer their company," he adds with a wink._

_Solona grins. "So the flirting?"_

"_Is great fun, isn't it? Especially when there's no pressure to actually __**perform**__ for anyone. We can just flirt and be ridiculous and get drunk. What do you say? Would you like a friend for the evening?"_

_Solona laughs, hitting her mug against his, held out for just such a purpose. "All right. A friend for an evening."_

. . .

"He drugged me," Solona said, voice flat. "I don't remember anything until I woke up with that _infernal_ device near me. I couldn't destroy it. I was chained. It was dark. A voice like the grating of metal against stone interrogated me. I don't remember what it wanted. That device filled my head with incessant noise if I dared try to _think_. I never saw Dorian again, but it was _he_ who delivered me, drugged, to that Magister."

Cassandra pursed her lips. "I shall have to speak with him about this. Unfortunately, Dorian's help has been invaluable in bringing Alexius to justice and freeing the mages."

"Freeing the mages?" Solona asked, brows knit. How much did she not know?

"Solona, much has happened since your communications stopped," Cassandra said, hand on her forehead in an entirely uncharacteristic gesture. The Seeker may not have liked Solona's joking manner, but they had built up a rapport during her time in Val Royeaux. They had a mutual respect that dated back years at this point. Cassandra could relax somewhat around Solona.

Maker knew Solona would never judge her for the need.

"Is Leliana all right?"

Cassandra's light brown eyes – Solona always thought of them as the color of cinnamon – regarded her from under her hand. "Yes. And it is encouraging that she is your first concern."

Solona scoffed. "Of course she is my first concern! You ought to know, Seeker – I would not abandon her."

"And yet you disappeared without a word, on some mission neither you nor the Divine would speak of. And now… The Divine is dead, Solona. Justinia is _dead_, and you have missed all that has transpired since."

The arcane warrior, hand halfway to her mouth with the loaf of bread, froze, letting it fall slowly back to the table. Her heart kicked. In her mind, she saw the kind face of Dorothea, later known as Divine Justinia to the world. Solona saw the easy smile the old woman bore, especially for Leliana. She saw the laugh lines around the old woman's eyes, and she felt the motherly presence that had been missing for Solona since Wynne's death.

"Tell me what happened, Cassandra."

She was met with a sigh. "It is easier to just show you, Solona."

The arcane warrior was about to protest, but something about the Seeker's stance, the set to her shoulders and the look upon her face, made her reconsider. "All right. Show me whatever it is you have to show me."

She followed Cassandra in silence. They walked through the castle, stirring up old memories from ten years before. _This is where I first entered the Fade as an arcane warrior. Where the demon abandoned Connor for me. It was here that I defeated my first demon in the Fade. It was so easy. And it has grown only easier since._

As they walked, Solona took in more of her surroundings. She saw the elven mage from before, now standing at the hearth in the great hall. She saw the white-haired elf whose situation had still not been explained to her. She saw Cullen, speaking with a group of soldiers. She was shocked to see that he actually only had one hand, his left arm stopping just past the elbow.

The world had changed. And she had been gone for all of it. What more would she find changed when she left these halls?

She was stopped abruptly as a blonde ball of energy hurled itself at her.

"Solona!"

The former Grey Warden found that she had a blond elf hugging her, head coming just past her shoulders. She didn't know who it was, but the way the woman hugged her made her think they _must_ have met at some point in the past.

She patted the elf awkwardly for a moment before the smaller woman finally pulled away, turning her face up to beam into Solona's. She looked familiar…

"Maker's balls, is that… Sera?"

"You remember!" Sera exclaimed, throwing her arms around Solona's shoulders this time.

Solona eagerly returned the embrace, flooded with memories of the young elven woman, many years ago.

. . .

_An elven child, no older than eight, sits forlornly in the corner of the clinic. Wynne is busy tending to a man with an open, festering wound, but the only other occupant of their makeshift clinic that has not been seen to is this child. Solona is intrigued. Why is the child alone? She is the only one so young here._

_The child won't speak to her, but Solona knows just the thing. Coming over with a bowl of hot stew, the Grey Warden grins as the young girl takes the food and nearly burns herself trying to wolf it down._

"_Easy," Solona says, placing her hand on the girl's back for a moment. "It's not going anywhere, I promise. Don't hurt yourself."_

_The girl smiles, lets out a sheepish laugh, and tries to slow down. But it is clear to Solona as she watches the girl that it has been a long time since a meal was available to her that didn't need to be immediately consumed. Likely the girl lives on the street, where she steals food from dogs, or vermin. Or other street urchins. The best way to protect food is to eat it, after all._

"_Are you hurt?" Solona asks, trying to get a feel for the girl's state without actually touching her._

_The girl's big eyes look into Solona's, and in that moment, the arcane warrior can tell that the little girl has decided to trust her. The child nods, finishing her stew._

"_Can I take a look? It will help me make you feel better," Solona says._

_The elf child nods again. Solona has her lie down, and gently pulls back her sleeves and pant legs, looking for problems._

_There. It is a gash, a nasty thing that hasn't healed properly, on the front of the thigh. Solona catches the girl's eye. "I can't heal this until it is properly cleaned. Do you… how long has it been since you've taken a bath?" The girl's hair is greasy and dirty, obviously blonde when clean, but so very far from clean at the moment. It is at least not matted._

_The girl shakes her head. "I 'avn't in… I don' remember."_

_Solona nods. "That's all right. I can help you, if you like. We have hot water, soap, and I can probably find clean clothes that will fit you better than what you have on."_

_The girl can only nod, agreeing to a bath. Solona leads her to the attached bathing chamber and helps her. She is so thin. Her ribs are visible, as well as her hipbones. Solona bathes and lances her wound, working fast to reduce the pain. Then she bandages it and dresses the girl before feeding her again. The next day she is able to apply healing magic to the gash on the girl's leg._

_Solona has a shadow after that. Until the day the girl must flee Denerim with the older human woman who has decided to take her in, little Sera never strays far from her side._

. . .

"Sera, you've… _grown_," Solona said, holding the blonde elf girl away from her. She was a girl no longer, standing almost as tall as Leliana now. Her hair was still a little ragged, not kept even but instead looking as though the elf had merely cut it with a dagger to get it out of her way. She wore a simple red tunic over black hose, and a bow was strapped to her back. But most striking was the _beaming_ smile upon her face.

She had grown, but underneath was still that trickster child whom Solona'd had to chastise even when the girl had indeed something _terribly_ funny.

Like arrange a bucket of water to fall over Wynne's head one morning. Thank goodness the older mage had always had tremendous patience with children. And a healthy sense of fun. Zevran had been there that day, commenting on how the water silhouetted her bosom nicely. Solona had been fairly sure he had paid for the comment that night. In only the _best_ of ways.

"It's been ten _years_. O' course I've grown!" Sera exclaimed, giggling a little.

Her grin was infectious. Solona couldn't help but grin back. "I suppose you're right! But still! How is it you're here?"

"Well, I met the 'erald in Val Royeaux, an'-"

"Sera," Cassandra said, cutting the elf off.

"What?" Sera said, rounding on the Seeker, brows knit.

Solona was entertained to see that Cassandra looked very much like she had a pebble stuck in her boot when she looked upon the mischievous elf. _I wonder what trick Cassandra has been the butt of…_

"I have not yet explained all to Solona just yet. She knows nothing of the Herald or anything else."

"Oooooohhh," Sera said, turning back to face Solona. "Yeah, you 'ave a lot to catch up on. I'll wait until you know all that's 'appened, then we can talk, yeah?"

Solona nodded. She was beginning to dread knowing all that had happened since her capture. She wasn't even sure how long it had been. She watched Sera scamper away, engaging a male soldier in conversation, along with a _giant _of a qunari with an eyepatch.

"She had mentioned she knew you in Denerim," Cassandra said, getting Solona's attention. "I had forgotten until now, however."

Solona just shrugged. "Lead on, Seeker. I would know what has happened in my absence."

* * *

Solona stared at the horizon. It was only midday, but she could see the Breach clearly, hovering just above the mountains in the distance, far to the northeast. She stared as she listened to Cassandra tell all. She learned of the state of the mage-templar war. She learned of the explosion at the Conclave, of the start of the Inquisition, of the Herald and the mark upon her hand. She learned of Fade rifts and how the mark could close them.

She learned of the Divine's death.

Tears sprang to her eyes with that news. She had known the woman for years. And not just as Divine Justinia, but as Dorothea, the Revered Mother who had saved Leliana after she was captured by the Orlesian Chevaliers. Dorothea was the closest thing to a mother either woman had after the Blight. Solona mourned. And she grieved for Leliana, who would have taken the Divine's death the hardest and most personal of all.

When Cassandra was through, Solona finally turned to look at her. "This Herald of Andraste. I would meet her properly. I have a theory of why she was marked so."

"You think you know this mark on her hand?"

"No," Solona replied, shaking her head. "I meant the marking of her hair. It is… well, arcane warriors are quite literally _marked_ by accessing the Fade how we do. The first time I accessed that power, I was five years old and I slowed my descent to the ground without spell or conscious thought. My hair fell out and grew back white." She paused, regarding the slightly shorter woman. "You said this Zanneth was pushed _physically_ out of the Fade? I think her hair changing has something to do with _that_."

"Interesting." Cassandra's eyes left Solona's face, clearly thinking. "I had not thought of it. But it would make sense." Her eyes snapped back to Solona's. "But it would be impossible to test. No one else has ever ventured physically into the Fade. Not unless you count the story of Tevinter Magisters accosting the Golden City as true, historical events."

"True. Even _I_ do not enter the Fade physically," Solona said, nodding. "I merely access it spiritually with _much_ more ease than others." She pursed her lips. "I do not know what close proximity to this Breach will do for me or my abilities. But I would be in Haven, with Leliana, as soon as is possible."

"She is not the only one there, Solona," Cassandra said. "Your sister, Revka, is a diplomat of the Inquisition. And… well, you should speak with Cullen, as well. I know the two of you have a… difficult past."

Solona sighed. "There is still much I do not know, and many people I must speak with. I have been gone a very long time, Cassandra. How does one just… _insert_ oneself into something like this? It is like I am a stranger in my own life. Or the remains of it, at any rate."

Cassandra straightened. "You eat, you bathe, you _sleep_, and then you explain what the hell you were doing for the Divine."

Solona narrowed her eyes. "I will share that, but only because it is _done_. And I won't breathe a word until I can tell Leliana, to her face. I withheld that from her. I _hurt_ her with that omission. And then I disappeared, with no contact. I can't even imagine the state of her now, without Dorothea, without me…"

Cassandra nodded. "She has… lost much of her light. It comes out now and again, but for the most part you are returning to a cold woman, lost and alone. I do not know how she holds the strands of her life together, Solona. Revka helps, as does Josephine, but… she needs _you_."

"I know. And I need her," Solona whispered, burying her face in her hands. She felt the tears coming. She truly did not wish to weep in front of Cassandra Pentaghast, but the Seeker was the closest thing Solona had to a friend at the moment.

"Come," Cassandra said, hand landing gently on Solona's shoulder. "I will take you to the Herald."

Solona nodded, sniffing and getting her emotions under control. Cassandra knew as well as she how uncomfortable it would be if she were to lose her composure here. Solona was grateful.

Straightening, she wiped her eyes and turned, not waiting for Cassandra to lead her back inside Recliffe Castle.


	29. Time Marches Ever On

Without the arl or his soldiers, the mages took over the castle. They were incredibly efficient, washing linens and clothing, drawing baths, and just generally taking care of the Inquisition guests, as well as each other. Fiona ran the show with Alexius gone. She was a natural in the role. Clearly, stepping back and letting her charges make their own decisions had been difficult for the natural mother-figure. With supervision placed gratefully back into her hands by the rebel mages, she took to the role like a duck to water, directing what must be done and assigning the tasks if no one volunteered.

Zanneth now sat upon the bed in the room she had been issued. As the Herald of Andraste, she had been gifted with the largest guest room available. She cared not, but chose not to refuse the clear honor they were trying to bestow upon her. And the clear apology Fiona was attempting to make for this whole fiasco with Alexius.

Zanneth sighed. She was exhausted. She had eaten and bathed, and was now wearing simple homespun tunic and trousers while her armor and hunting coat were washed of the filth that covered them from her foray into the future. But now, finally, she was still, and her mind could play over the events of the last several hours.

She was completely overwhelmed trying to sort through it, however. She had essentially experienced the end of the world between breaking her fast and her midday meal. _How_ was she supposed to recover? How was she supposed to go on as if nothing had changed?

How was she supposed to face Cassandra, knowing what she knew about the Seeker's feelings? How was she supposed to face the woman having so recently seen her horrific death?

"_Make me see."_

The plea echoed in her head; all she could seem to focus on within the frenetic whirlwind of her thoughts. How was she supposed to make Cassandra see? All Zanneth could see was Cassandra's lifeless body tossed aside by a wretched horror. Cassandra's arms had been oddly bent, her head lolling on her neck. Blood had dripped from her bare stomach, ripped open by the wicked claws of that horrible creature. How was Zanneth supposed to try to make Cassandra see when all the _elf_ could see was Cassandra dead upon the flagstones?

And if she did just tell Cassandra all, then what would the Seeker do? Desperation had fueled that future version of Cassandra. Her love for Zanneth had been a year old by that point. She had been mourning, thrown into chaos, interrogated, likely tortured. She had seen Zanneth and hope had been restored, breaking through the woman's iron-clad reserve and propriety to push her to kiss a Dalish elf with a strange mark upon her hand.

What now would Cassandra do? Her love was new, burgeoning. Desperation and renewed hope did not fuel her. Would she be as passionate? Would she deny her own emotions?

Would it be the same?

"How do I make you _see_, Cassandra?" Zanneth whispered to her empty room. "How do I push past this guilt that you sacrificed yourself for _me_, and make you see the passion that resides within _you_?"

Perhaps she needed to sleep. Would her mind ever go quiet enough for it?

A knock on her door roused her from her desperate thoughts. "Come in," she called, getting up from her bed.

At her door was Cassandra, the tall, tattooed arcane warrior in tow.

"Hello, Zanneth," Cassandra said. Her voice hurt to even hear. So formal. So _alive_. Why was the Herald not overjoyed to be here, to have stopped that future from happening, and to have this woman here, in front of her, alive and healthy?

This was dreadfully confusing.

"Hello, Cassandra."

"This is Solona Amell. She was hoping you had a moment to be formally introduced."

The white-haired woman, freshly bathed and in clean clothing, stepped forward into the room. Her hair was several inches longer than Zanneth's, and clean it shined as white as the elf's. She was tremendously tall, even taller than Cullen and Cassandra; Zanneth didn't even come up to her chin. But her slate grey eyes were kind, and her demeanor was all friendly curiosity.

The huntress held out her hand. "The Hero of Ferelden, yes? I am Zanneth, of the Lavellan clan," she said, surprised to feel the large human's grip was strong, but gentle, if such a thing were possible.

"Pleased to meet you, Zanneth. I am not familiar with your clan but I hold several members of another clan in high regard." She narrowed her eyes, her lips quirking up in a half grin. "I hear you bear a different title, however."

Zanneth groaned.

Solona's grin widened. "Then I shall endeavor to only call you 'Herald' or 'Your Worship' when we are in the presence of others." She paused, cocking her head to the side. "So long as you leave that blasted 'Hero of Ferelden' tripe at the door. I have always hated that title, and wish I could leave it behind me."

Zanneth found herself smiling. "I think I can do that. Solona."

The human woman released her hand. "We have an accord, then!" She paused, studying Zanneth a moment. "You look as though you have seen a fight. Has your injury been seen to?"

Zanneth merely blinked, confused.

"Your nose," the mage said, pointing to her own. "It has been broken. You have the two black eyes to prove it. But it looks like it's been healed. Do you need any other assistance?"

"Oh. No, it is fine now. Nothing else is wrong, as far as I know."

Solona nodded in response before changing the subject. "So tell me. Cassandra says you came out of the Fade _physically_. You have no memory of this?"

Zanneth knit her brows. She was tired. She did not wish to go through this again. But… so was this woman. She had been chained, likely tortured. That device had cut her off from the Fade. Of all the people that might ask for this information, Zanneth could muster the energy to provide it for _her_.

So she sat back upon her bed, allowing Cassandra and Solona to pull out chairs from the table in the corner, and she did her best to recall _all_ she could from the day of the explosion, leaving out the details of Sinna and Hyune. She was not looking for this woman's pity. By the time she was through, Solona was on her feet, pacing.

"Have you some idea of what might have happened to me?" Zanneth asked, watching the woman stop and stare out the window.

She turned. "I cannot guess what might have happened or where the mark comes from. But I _think_ you hair is white because you bear the mark."

"Oh?" Cassandra said. It was getting easier to hear the Seeker's voice, but it still brought unpleasant memories that were already beginning to feel like a dream, like they didn't really happen. That scared the Herald. It _did_ happen, even if the people around her would never experience it. She had _been _there.

"You said you thought it was her journey through the Fade that marked her," Cassandra continued.

"Yes, I did. But now I have heard the tale firsthand from the one who experienced it." Solona strode away from the window, coming to stand before Zanneth. "May I see?" she asked, holding her hand out. Zanneth obliged, allowing the arcane warrior to examine her left hand and the faintly glowing mark that resided therein. Many minutes went by before the mage released her.

It was only then that the Herald noticed the woman's eyes glowed, and her hands had warmed considerably. She was doing the same thing she had done in the dungeons, though she made no move this time to harm anyone. Zanneth was too tired to be afraid.

The glow faded, and the mage left Zanneth's side. "Yes, this mark… it is incredible. It is like the needle at the end of a thread. It uses the energy in your very body to fuel the closing of the rifts, does it not?"

Zanneth nodded. "Yes, it does."

"And that is why you needed the help of the mages. So they might channel their power to you to close the Breach above Haven." Solona moved to the window again. Clearly visible through it was the Breach, hovering over the horizon. "Incredible," she muttered, staring out at the Breach.

"Does this knowledge help us in any way?" Cassandra asked.

"I have no idea, Seeker," Solona responded. "Might I speak with the elven mage you spoke of? The one who kept Zanneth alive while the Breach was unstable?"

Cassandra nodded. "I can show you to him."

Solona turned, catching Zanneth's eyes. Zanneth had been staring at Cassandra, but tore her eyes away when the Seeker pushed herself from her chair. She felt now as though Solona had caught her in some way, like a child unsuccessfully trying to sneak sweets.

"In a moment. Might I have a word alone with Zanneth, Cassandra?" the mage said.

Cassandra furrowed her brows, but nodded. "Of course. I will be outside in the hall." She exited the room with a glance back at Zanneth, leaving Solona alone with the elf. Zanneth felt a pang of guilt at the slight look of confused hurt in the warrior's eyes.

Solona stepped forward, stopping several paces from the Herald. "What happened in this dark future? You have shared no details with anyone."

"I told all on my way to free _you_," the elf responded, brows furrowed.

"Yes, and Cassandra has shared that with me. But it was woefully lacking in detail, in _feeling_. You look haunted. What did you witness that would put such a look in your eyes?"

"I'm not… I'm not ready. Dorian can tell you if you must know now," Zanneth said, looking away.

Solona nearly spit. "Dorian… That man is why I was imprisoned. I understand his allegiance seems to have changed, but… I cannot speak to him right now. He might not survive the encounter."

Zanneth blinked rapidly, trying to process what she knew. Perhaps this was why Dorian had seemed so guilty after this woman's death? Was it _she_ he was shouting about to Alexius?

"I… I just can't. I'm so tired. But I can't seem to quiet my mind enough to sleep. And seeing you and Cassandra here, after what happened…"

Solona held up a hand. "Something happened to me in this future, you say? Something happened to the Seeker?"

Zanneth nodded, trying desperately not to see Cassandra's lifeless body flying through the air.

Solona sighed. "Of course. How very confusing for you," she said, sympathetic eyes turned on the elf. "If you like, I can help you sleep. I have done so for many a patient in too much discomfort to relax, or who is troubled by nightmares of past traumas."

Zanneth should have been frightened, but the thought of rest without fear of revisiting the last several hours was too good to pass up. "Yes, please," she said, closing her eyes and seeing Solona's body half-consumed by red lyrium, her head at an impossible angle. "I have no wish to keep seeing what I've seen in my dreams."

Solona's voice changed as she spoke. "Take my hand." The multi-tonal voice seemed to echo around her, and looking into the mage's eyes revealed them to be glowing once more. Zanneth did as directed. She felt warmth immediately suffuse her body, starting at her palm. Within moments she felt drowsy. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow, the dreamless sleep of the utterly exhausted swallowing her up and carrying her off into oblivion.

* * *

"So Cullen is the commander of the Inquisition's martial forces?"

Cassandra looked up to see Solona entering the dining hall, Sera and Krem in tow. The elf had been _glued_ to the arcane warrior since the conversation with Zanneth had ceased. Solas had been nowhere to be found. Cassandra would have thought he would wish to speak with the only known arcane warrior. Wasn't it a heritage of the elves?

"Yes, he is." Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "I told you this already."

"Yes, yes you did. What you did _not_ tell me was that he _married my sister_," Solona said, standing with her arms crossed over her chest. "What else did you neglect to mention?"

Cassandra sighed. She was bone-tired from managing the whirlwind that was Solona Amell, and it was not yet time for supper. "It is their personal business, Solona. I did not wish to gossip like some Orlesian noble at court."

Solona was silent before letting out a small snort. "I suppose I can see what you mean. But it _does_ involve me, Seeker. And it involves my family. Sera here told me, though she did not know Revka was my sister. She merely mentioned the commander and the ambassador's assistant were wed recently." She shook her head. "Maker, that man won't come within three leagues of me at the moment. I think I scare him."

"Well, you _did_ try to kill Dorian right in front of him."

Solona paused. "True," she said at last, closing the distance between them and plopping herself on the bench seat across from Cassandra. Sera and Krem left them alone. Cassandra was not sure if she was grateful. She wanted time alone to think, but at least she was spared the presence of the trickster elf.

"Did you need something from me, Solona?"

"I wish to speak to Dorian. But I dare not face him alone. Or you won't have the bastard for the Inquisition."

"You think you would lose control?" Cassandra sat up straight. "Or do you really wish to kill him that badly?"

"The first, because of the second," Solona said. "I'm not sure I want to _kill_ him, per se. But think very hard, Seeker. I do not boast when I say that, had I been present at the Conclave, things would have turned out differently. Whoever opened the Breach in the sky knew this – it was _he_ who ordered Alexius to imprison me. And it was Alexius who got his apprentice to track me down and drug me. I want to know why Dorian would do so, and I want to know why he has changed his tune. But I need someone there to… mediate. I trust you."

"You do?"

Solona let out a chuckle. "Of course I do. You left the Seekers when they led the Templar Order in open rebellion against the Chantry and the rebel mages. It was not the right course, and you would swim against the current in order to do what you feel is right. I trust you to do what I cannot – to look upon this with unbiased eyes. You know what he did to me. You know what he's done for the Inquisition, and to ensure my freedom, even if _that_ was unintentional. Or perhaps it wasn't. I do not know." She paused, shrugged. "The Divine and Leliana both have trusted you with their lives. I now trust you with _his_."

Cassandra took a deep breath, contemplating what Solona had said. Normally, she found the arcane warrior's presence grating, despite her keen mind. The former Grey Warden was fond of her jokes and pranks, of her off-color remarks, and her entirely inappropriate stories. The Seeker never countenanced any of it well, always put in a foul mood by Solona's antics and shutting it down as quickly as she could. Which only seemed to fuel the former warden on to do more. Getting a reaction from Cassandra had always seemed to be Solona's goal.

So to hear that the mage held her in such high esteem – a _mage_, holding a _Seeker_ in high esteem! – surprised Cassandra deeply.

"Very well," she said at last, pushing herself away from the table at which they sat. "Let us seek him out. I would hear his story, and judge whether he should continue to serve the Inquisition."

They walked together in silence. A few enquiries of passing rebel mages informed her that Dorian could be found in the courtyard. As they passed through the main entrance hall, Solona scoffed under her breath.

"What is it?" Cassandra asked.

"Lady Vivienne is here?"

"Yes. She joined the Inquisition early on."

Solona snorted. "She is a _right_ cunt."

Cassandra nearly stopped walking. She was not accustomed to having Solona around. This was exactly the kind of off-color remark the Seeker found off-putting.

"I forgot that you would have met at court," Cassandra offered in answer, trying not to react. Solona had earned her lack of filter _this_ day, at least.

"Court, yes. When she deigned to speak to me. We met at the White Spire, however. They _loved_ me there."

Cassandra smirked. "Yes. I suppose most might envy a free mage who could walk openly with Ferelden's apostate's mark upon your face."

"It was not so easy, Seeker." Solona took a deep breath before explaining. "Templars and mages alike looked upon my visage with wariness. Only those near the top at Montsimmard knew what I was, _who_ I was. The templars had strict orders not to take me into custody, but do not think that none of them have _tried_. It was easier being the Commander of the Grey: I had soldiers at my disposal, and a king who ensured I remained unmolested."

Cassandra nodded, turning to look up at Solona. "I do remember Leliana telling of the time a young recruit came into your clinic."

"Yes, like that. That was the worst. You only came in _after_; you didn't see him while he accosted me. He held one of my patients hostage to try to force my cooperation."

Cassandra actually _stopped_ at that. "He _did?!_ What did you do? How did you resolve it? Was the hostage hurt?"

"No. I cooperated until he let the little boy go. Then I unleashed unholy terror upon him. He was too stupid to realize if he truly wanted to keep forcing my cooperation, he needed to keep hold of the hostage." Solona shook her head. "I have much practice with that sort of thing. Leliana has been used against me on more than one occasion. That is part of why Justinia and I both decided that no one could know of my mission until it was done."

"And it is done?" Cassandra cast back in her memory from earlier that day. "You said it was complete."

"Yes. I was heading back to Orlais when I met Dorian on the road."

"I see. Well, let us go see what he has to say in his defense, shall we?"

"Yes," Solona said, eyes narrowing. "Let us see."

They did, indeed, find Dorian in the courtyard, speaking quietly with Fiona. He was on his feet almost the moment he looked up to see who approached, however.

"Stay here, Solona," Cassandra murmured, satisfied when the mage halted and nodded. The Seeker continued forward until she could speak with Fiona and Dorian without shouting.

"Why do you bring her here?" Dorian demanded, looking from Solona to Cassandra, wary.

"She wanted to speak with you. She wanted _me_ to mediate so she does not _kill_ you." Cassandra was slightly amused at how pale the Tevinter mage became at that bit of information.

"And how do you intend to stop an arcane warrior? Do you know how _powerful_ she is?!"

"Sit down, Dorian," Fiona said, voice soft but firm. "From what I understand, she has every right to wish you harm. And from your wariness, you _know_ it."

Dorian's mouth worked silently for a moment before he nodded, seating himself back on the bench next to Fiona. Solona approached slowly, but stopped several paces behind Cassandra. _Good_, the Seeker thought. _She is dedicated to at least not kill him before she hears what he has to say_. _That is something, at least._

"So… what now?" Dorian asked, still staring at Solona warily.

"Solona says you drugged her and delivered her to Alexius. Is that true?"

"Yes, but-"

"Why?"

Dorian looked put out at having been interrupted, but he clearly thought better of rebuking Cassandra for it. Clearing his throat, he answered her. "I was trying to help Felix."

The Seeker hadn't expected that answer. Something about power, or time magic, or perhaps something about Solona's unique abilities; but to help _Felix_? "How would having Solona captive help Felix?"

Dorian sighed, looking away. "Felix bears the taint. Alexius is a skilled mage; he stopped the infection from spreading without contacting any Grey Wardens and forcing Felix to join their order. But it _will_ kill him. Or turn him into the mindless ghoul we saw in that awful future we were telling you about." He looked back, this time eyes landing squarely on Solona. "He told me you could cure Felix. In actual fact, his master, this Elder One, wanted you because you are an arcane warrior, able to reach the Fade at will. I didn't know that at the time, of course, or I never would have agreed. But I…" He made a frustrated sound. "Must I really bare my _soul_ to you?"

"I think I have earned an explanation, _churl_," Solona spat, no sympathy in her gaze.

"Fine," Dorian ground out, looking away, back to Cassandra. "I am in love with Felix, all right? I knew he was sick, and I was desperate to do anything I could to help him, whether or not he reciprocated my feelings. I agreed to capture her and deliver her to my master. When I saw her go straight into a cell with that artifact, I rebelled. It is why I left my apprenticeship. But it was too late by that point – he had her and I could do nothing to release her. So I left, and I worked to try to get her out. I didn't find the opportunity until I followed him to Redcliffe and met Fiona, who was speaking covertly with Felix about how to counter Alexius's plans for the southern mages. I wanted in, to try to free the woman I had tricked, but also to atone for having done it in the first place. Felix convinced Fiona I was trustworthy."

"And I'm glad I did," Fiona remarked, her hand on Dorian's arm. "Despite everything you have done, you have proven that you _know_ you were wrong, and you have done all you could to undo it."

"Fat lot of good it did me," Dorian muttered, glancing up at Solona.

Cassandra turned to look upon the former warden. Solona's face was a mask of shifting emotion. She looked disgusted, hurt, angry, but her eyes held… _pity_ when they looked upon Dorian Pavus. "Solona?"

"I can _almost_ remember," the taller woman whispered.

"Come again?"

"This Elder One," she said, louder. "He questioned me. He tried to make me do something, but I couldn't, or I wouldn't. I… Blast it, I don't remember!" Her voice took on its multi-tonal quality at the last, but the glow in her eyes faded rapidly as she got her emotions under control. "Whatever it was, he was dissatisfied and left me to Alexius. I don't remember much, but one question Alexius asked me time and again was, 'How did you survive the taint?'" Her eyes fell on Dorian again. "Which, at the very least, fits the story you give. It sounds like, once the Elder One was through with me, Alexius had his own motives to keep me around and _alive_. Reasons similar to those he gave you for capturing me in the first place."

"You don't remember what this Elder One looked like?" Cassandra asked, confused. "You don't remember what answers you gave?"

Solona shook her head. "That infernal device filled my head with noise. Whatever answers I gave, I was not aware of the words I spoke. The only reason I even know how long I was held is because of the season. It was just after the spring thaw when I met you, Dorian."

"He _still_ held you in that awful future," Dorian murmured. "I watched… I watched as your love held you and then put you out of your misery."

Cassandra gasped, but Solona only nodded. "I imagine that by that time I had gone mad?"

"That and so much worse," Dorian whispered. Their gazes were locked now. Solona was no longer murderous. Cassandra wasn't sure, but she thought she saw some sort of agreement being reached silently between them.

"Do I want to know the details?"

"I'd not wish to know them if it were me," Dorian said, eyes not leaving the taller woman's.

Solona was quiet for a moment, still holding Dorian's gaze. Then, slowly and softly, she strode forward, holding out her hand. "You are not forgiven, Dorian. But… I think we can work together."

Dorian stood, taking her hand, clearly unsure. But Cassandra had to give him credit: despite his uncertainty, he took her hand firmly, and he did not back away. "I suppose that's more than I deserve. You won't change your mind and kill me in my sleep?"

Solona, despite the situation, chuckled. "Oh, Dorian. Trust me. If I'm going to kill you, you'll _know_. You'll be awake and facing me, and it won't be a trick. I _despise_ tricks." At the last, her eyes grew hard.

Dorian gulped, but nodded. "Duly noted."

Cassandra finally moved forward. "Why don't we introduce you to the other members of the Inquisition, Solona? Then you can perhaps have some rest. I imagine you are _both_ exhausted?"

"My fair Lady, you are too right!" Dorian exclaimed, releasing Solona's hand before turning on his heel. "Let us introduce her to the others, let us eat, let us bathe, and let us _sleep_!" He announced it all as though they would be attending a fete.

He bounded off, much how Sera might, utterly confusing Cassandra. Solona merely laughed, however, following the man back into the keep.

"Those two are far too alike to stay enemies for long," Fiona mused, passing Cassandra and leaving her staring, flabbergasted, at the keep's entrance. Finally, shaking her head at the utter nonsense she had just witnessed, the Seeker roused herself into action, following them inside.

* * *

_A/N: You may or may not recognize my little homage to Firefly there when Solona tells Dorian he'll know when she's about to kill him. I hope you enjoyed this! I certainly enjoyed writing it._


	30. An Unexpected Arrival

Solona sat upon the roof of the highest tower in the castle. The night sky was clear, stars twinkling merrily all around her. In her hand was a ball of light, in actuality a ball of _power_. She let it inside of her body, dimming the ball, then channeled it back into her hands, making the ball shine more brightly.

She hated meditating, yes, but with so long away from the world, from her own mind, and unable to access the Fade, she knew she must reacquaint herself slowly with her powers. She had been doing this exercise for hours, and was now sure she could find that perfectly centered place, where she would straddle the Veil and see the physical realm and the realm of the Fade overlap.

Taking a deep breath, Solona pooled the power inside of her, pulling back the curtain within her fully and drinking deep from the well of power available to her. Time stopped, all motion around her coming to a standstill, and she opened her eyes.

Before her lay the countryside of the Hinterlands: below the village of Redcliffe, beyond the wide plains, and beyond _that_ the craggy cliffs at the tail end of the Frostbacks. Overlaid upon this vista was a vague, pulsing energy: the Fade. The Fade was not a physical place, per se, but it _did_ somehow coexist with the physical world. It was influenced by the minds that entered it, but also by the physical places that person had been. For Solona, who could exist in both realms at once, the Fade reacted to the physical world directly around her at that time, because it was what was in her mind. She literally _saw_ the energies of the world around her.

She could also _be_ everywhere. Everything she could see, she could appear there should she choose, because her awareness existed everywhere. She thought of it as "swimming through the Fade," though that wasn't quite accurate. It was more as if she could expand her awareness. It was difficult to put into words. She simply… _could_.

But she could not move while she straddled the Veil. In reality, only a moment went by when she did this. Time seemed, to her, to stop, but an outside observer would see only her rigidly still, staring with wide eyes at the world for a moment. When she stopped channeling her power in this way, stopped straddling the Veil and chose to exist fully in the physical realm, time sped back up for her. If she chose to be elsewhere, she would appear to an observer to vanish almost the moment she began channeling the arcane energy. If she chose to remain where she was, no matter how much time might have passed to Solona's awareness, but a moment of staring would have gone by to an observer.

She stretched out her awareness now, seeing many things: vermin suspended in the village, picking through trash; a mother bear and cub, suspended near their lair, gorging on berries; a raccoon and a possum fighting.

And an encampment of soldiers only a few miles away, behind the treeline. Solona considered. Who were they? She only knew they were there, could not see any banners or soldiers' tabards. Was this a force marching on Redcliffe? Were the mages here in trouble? What if it was templars?

Making a decision, Solona decided to "awaken" just on this side of the trees, blinking out of existence in the physical realm, if anyone had been around to see.

* * *

A child shrieked. "No, Father, he's touching me!"

Alistair sighed. His tent was a shambles. Not for the first time, he reminded himself _why_ he did not wish for nannies and wet-nurses to be the ones raising his children for him. _I wish I'd known my mother and my father. I __**will not**__ be absent from my children's lives, certainly not for the sake of convenience._

Another shriek, this time from the youngest, only five years old. The King of Ferelden groaned. "Why is it that I brought all three of them with me?" he asked of his companion.

Zevran Airanai, former Antivan Crow and devoted advisor to the king, chuckled. "Because you love your queen and aren't cruel enough to leave her with more than one of your children while she is so visibly pregnant with your _fifth child_, Alistair." Here, in this tent, they could be informal. Alistair insisted upon it.

The king lifted his youngest to his hip, turning to Zevran with narrowed eyes. "And how did you get out of bringing any of _yours_?"

Zevran's grin was cutting. "Ah, but my wife is not pregnant, your Majesty, and she only has two to manage without me. I am afraid I am not quite as _virile_ as you – I am sure Ellia appreciates it."

Alistair smiled, despite the dig. Zevran had been heartbroken when Wynne had died. They all had, the king included. She had been as a mother to all – except Zevran – on their journey through Ferelden during the Blight ten years before. The mage had been quite a bit older than Zevran, and at first Alistair had found their relationship strange. But the former assassin had made it clear that he loved that woman with all his being, and Alistair would not be the one to tell them it was wrong. After a few weeks, it hadn't bothered the warden one bit.

Though the constant lecherous attention to Wynne's bosom had taken some getting used to.

After her death, Zevran had been claimed by Ellia, an old friend of the king's – in fact, his first lover who was not a prostitute. She had taken Zevran to her bed, comforting him in the way he needed most in that moment. Over time, it had grown into something more, and three years after the death of his greatest love, Zevran had proposed to Ellia. The two had been wed quietly, a simple ceremony overseen by the alienage's elder, and a year and a half later, Ellia had borne a beautiful, healthy baby girl. Alistair had loved to hold her and tickle her long ears. It always made her squeal and laugh.

The couple now had two healthy children, both girls. Zevran made a surprisingly good father. Once, Alistair had asked him about it. "I just do whatever she would have done," the former assassin had said, a sad smile upon his face. Alistair, too, had been sad. Wynne would have delighted in these children, having never gotten to meet the son she had borne in her youth.

Alistair's oldest child interrupted his musing. "Father? Are… am I in trouble?"

Alistair shook his head, looking to where his two oldest children – Wynne and Duncan – stood frozen in their argument. "Wynne, to bed. _Now_. Duncan, go with Zevran. You're covered in Bryce's dinner," he said, addressing his oldest son, who had "helped" the five-year-old Bryce with his meal while Alistair had attended to an important missive from Denerim. Now the both of them were covered in gravy and carrots from their stew.

Before anyone could move, however, a soldier burst into the tent. "Your Majesty!" he exclaimed. "A mage has just appeared in the trees! He keeps our soldiers at bay! No one has been killed yet, but…"

Alistair was grinning. Sight of it caused the guard to trail off. "My… my lord?"

"Twenty silver it's Solona," he said, looking askance at Zevran.

The blonde elf shook his head. "I am absolutely not taking that bet."

Alistair addressed the guard. "Does this fearsome mage have bright white hair and dark skin?"

"Aye…" The guard was uncertain now.

"That is the Hero of Ferelden, soldier! And she is a woman! Go call the men off and escort her here!"

The man blanched. "I'm sorry, your Majesty! I- I didn't know!" he stammered, bowing and leaving the tent with his tail between his legs.

Alistair just chuckled. "I know it's been too long since her visit if the new ones don't recognize her," he mused.

"Too true," Zevran agreed.

The two men began to clean up the children, Wynne allowed to stay up a little longer with Solona here. Just as they finished wiping and washing the two boys, the guard returned.

"Aunt Solona!" the children cried in unison. The smaller two broke ranks with the adult men, all of them running and tackling Solona the moment she entered the tent.

"Ah! Help me! I've been taken by the wee folk!"

Alistair snorted a laugh. Solona had always been good with children. She had been midwife to Elissa for all three of the ones currently piling on top of her. In the Circle, her greatest joy had been instructing – and playing with – the young apprentices. Everywhere she went, she seemed to find the children and coax them out of their shell. Her being a mage and looking so strange probably helped – kids tended to love that, instead of being frightened by it – but there was something else about _her_, as a person. She was just a natural with children.

It always seemed a pity to Alistair that the arcane warrior and her lover would never have children of their own. Indeed, their children would be beautiful, and both women would make fantastic mothers. Alas, that was not how it worked. A pity that the two women needed something neither wanted – a man – in order to expand their family.

"You taught them how to subdue you," Alistair said, watching as his children finally allowed the woman to at least sit up from where she'd fallen to the ground. "You can deal with the consequences."

"Blast," Solona said, eyes twinkling as the children giggled. "Foiled by my own ineptitude. Again."

"All right, children. You said hello. Now off to bed."

They knew when their father meant it, and when he could be worn down to let them do what they wished. Now was not one of those times. Kissing Solona's cheek, they each filed off, out of the command pavilion and into the sleeping tent Alistair would share with them later.

"So. Solona. Terrifying my guards?"

The arcane warrior grinned as she found her feet. "It's not my fault they didn't recognize me. _You're_ the one who dubbed me Hero of Ferelden. Why so many new ones?"

"Because you have been gone so long that even the new ones are old now," Zevran said, holding out his hand as she approached. Solona shook her head, grabbing his hand and pulling him into a hug. He probably loved it, as he likely was pulled right into her breasts. _Lecherous man. I'm amazed Ellia puts up with it_.

Alistair knew why. Because despite his lecherous ways, Zevran was a one-woman kind of man. If he was committed, there was almost nothing that could break that commitment.

Solona approached the king next. Their hug was ferocious, much back-slapping to accompany the strong, fierce embrace. It had been much too long.

As they separated, Alistair regarded her. She was thin under her clothes, lacking the muscle that usually defined her physique. Her hair had grown longer than he had ever seen it, reaching her chin, though ragged. And her expression was off, a weariness residing within her gaze. Something had happened to her, of that he was certain.

"So you're no longer missing, or in hiding, or whatever it was that happened," he said. He knew _some_ – he'd been in communication with Leliana. "What _did_ happen?"

Solona sighed, moving to sit in his chair. He didn't mind. Neither were Grey Wardens any longer, but when they were together, their rank melted away, just as it always had, even when it was Solona who was the one in charge and Alistair the subordinate.

"It is a long story," she said. "All I'll say before an ale – or perhaps something stronger? – is that I was taken captive. What are _you_ doing here?"

Alistair grew serious, pulling up a stool. "Teagan came to me with an interesting story. A Tevinter Magister has taken control of the rebel mages, to whom I granted asylum in Redcliffe, with Teagan's permission. The Magister ousted Teagan. That was _not_ the deal. So I've come to see what's going on. I thought best to hide while we made camp, as I don't wish to face a Magister until I'm ready. We'll be riding out tomorrow. The children and non-combatants will stay here."

Solona's laughed, inexplicably. "Well, you won't have to do _that_ anymore, my friend. For that Magister, who is the same who held me captive, is held by none other than _Cullen_, the templar who held me down for this tattoo and also happened to be in love with me. It is a strange, small world, gentlemen. Let's get drunk and I'll tell you all I know."

* * *

Zanneth awoke to a knock. She blinked, looking around bleary-eyed, unable to figure where she was.

_Redcliffe_…

Everything came rushing back. Solona's death. Cassandra's sacrifice. Leliana's fight to the death with Zanneth's bow.

_Make me see_…

Zanneth groaned. The knock persisted.

Finding that she was still dressed from the day before, Zanneth got up and went to her door. The rug tickled upon her bare feet.

Her heart dropped through her stomach when she saw that it was Cassandra outside her room. "Good morning," the Seeker said. She held a tray laden with fruit, sausages, bread, and honey. "I thought perhaps we could break our fast together?"

Zanneth's heart panged, and her stomach lurched. Cassandra looked so… _fetching_. She wore tight-fitting brown hose and a white shirt, loose about the arms but clinging to her torso. Calf-high boots rounded out the ensemble, highlighting every plane of the Seeker's body. The way she stood there, completely unabashed, simply _being_ in the clothes that showed her body off to such good advantage… Zanneth felt her face begin to heat.

_Why have I never noticed before? She is extremely pleasing on the eye…_

Memories intruded: that same form, thin, with ribs and hipbones visible, skin filthy, eyes with a repulsive red glow.

Zanneth's stomach performed a flip. She needed to stop staring. Wrenching her eyes up to Cassandra's, she merely nodded, turning away as quickly as she could. Even more confusing was to now look upon Cassandra with desire. It was rude. But it was also _strange_. She never thought she might look upon a woman with desire. She had barely looked upon _Sinna_ with desire, and then it was for the person he was, the husband and father he _could be_, rather than with any desire for him and his body.

This was different, not least because her memories of Cassandra's death threatened to choke her with their cloying presence, and yet it had been difficult to look away from her.

"Zanneth?" Cassandra's voice was gentle, almost hesitant. She placed the tray upon the table as the elf took a seat at one of the chairs. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Zanneth knew she was being rude, her tone clipped, but she could not bear to look upon Cassandra now. Less than a day before she had spoken her love to the woman, knowing it to be true in that moment. How was she to pick that up _now_? She couldn't bear to even look upon this whole, hearty, healthy woman with the uncorrupted eyes. Would she ever stop seeing the Cassandra that would never come to be?

_They are the same person_, Zanneth tried to reason with herself. _This Cassandra bears the same feelings __**that**__ Cassandra did. They are only separated by age._

The Herald knew that was only partially true. That future Seeker had many experiences influencing her actions that the woman before her would never have. But wasn't that a good thing? Wasn't that the _point_ of coming back? To undo what had been wrought, to keep Cassandra and Leliana and all the others from ever experiencing any of that?

_The problem is that not everyone was spared,_ Zanneth realized. _Both Dorian and I were there. We saw with the eyes we still possess. We actually __**did**__ experience that future, even if just a slice of it. Leliana was right. It __**did**__ happen. People __**did**__ suffer. I just had no idea that, when all was said and done, it would be __**me**__._

"Zanneth!"

The Herald started, eyes focusing to find Cassandra kneeling in front of her. Her concentration had left the room in her reverie, and hadn't noticed Cassandra trying to get her attention.

Well, the Seeker had it now. Zanneth felt her eyes well up and tried to turn, to keep the images and the tears at bay, but strong hands took hers, and the touch was so precious, so reminiscent of the touches she had received not a day before, that the huntress could not bring herself to break the contact.

"Zanneth, please, for the Maker's sake, tell me what is wrong!" Cassandra's tone was gentle, but pleading. It nearly broke Zanneth, reminding her so much of the woman's future imploring self. _Make me see…_

_I can't make you see right now,_ Zanneth thought, letting the tears well as she finally allowed herself to look into the warrior's eyes. They were blessedly free of that red, fiery corruption. _But perhaps I can give you a part of the truth…_

"It was so terrible, Cassandra," Zanneth whispered, sniffing, trying to speak through her stuffed nose. She spoke of what she had seen: of killing Fiona, Leliana's torture, Solona's death. She spoke of how the Cassandra and Leliana of the future seamlessly teamed to bring down Alexius, and she told of their honorable sacrifice, in order to ensure Dorian and Zanneth made it back to the present to stop any of it from ever happening. The only thing she left out were the details about Cassandra's feelings for Zanneth. She could not do it. Not yet.

When she told of Cassandra's death, of the demon's angry grasp and the Seeker's lolling limbs, she could keep her composure no longer. The tears came in earnest, and once again she found herself held fast in Cassandra's arms. Cassandra, who had held her on the road to Val Royeaux and helped her see that all was not lost, that her life and her suffering could at least help so many others. Cassandra, who had held her through the loss of her child, who cleaned her and stayed with her and kept the nightmares at bay. Cassandra, who loved her and said nothing, taking only what was offered and not pushing for more.

_This woman loves me even now_, Zanneth thought to herself, even as she cried and mourned what she had lost by averting that future. These arms felt the same. It was the same warm breath blowing over her sensitive ears. It was with the same firm gentleness that the Seeker held Zanneth, as if she were something to be protected, to be cared for, not fragile, but… _precious_. They were one person, these two Cassandras. Zanneth had experienced that future, but now Cassandra had not. She had _spared_ Cassandra that.

Finally, Zanneth was able to do something good for someone she loved.

She was not ready to make Cassandra see, but soon… soon she would be. She needed some time between herself and that horrific experience, just as she had needed time to truly mourn Hyune, Sinna, and her lost child. And she was not done mourning them. But perhaps, with a few days to collect herself, Zanneth need not be alone as she continued to mourn her brother, her betrothed, and the child she would never have. Perhaps… perhaps she might even have some _joy_ and love.

* * *

Cassandra held Zanneth in her arms. The elf no longer wept, but neither did she make a single move to separate, and the Seeker was _intensely_ aware of this woman's body against hers.

She had also been exceedingly aware of Zanneth's distance the day before. The elf had reappeared in the great hall _changed_. It was difficult to tell how, at first. She looked haunted, yes. But she was also almost _vengeful_ when it came to Alexius. Zanneth was not even vengeful with _Threnn_, who beat her to the point of miscarrying her child.

"_You don't know what he's __**done**__!"_

Well, now Cassandra knew. And she could understand _why_ Zanneth had acted how she had. She had been exhausted, and in seeing Cassandra before her, it was as though she saw a ghost. Of course the elf had been distant – she had needed a little time to process all that had happened. Cassandra now felt guilty for pushing the issue. Though Zanneth clearly had no one else she felt comfortable talking to about this, otherwise she would have already.

So for yet another time, Cassandra let the small woman's tears soak into her shirt, for the Herald needed it. The Seeker knew _she_ would likely need to weep in order to truly process all that had happened, all she had seen, if their roles were reversed. The only difference was that Cassandra would have done her weeping alone. She always had. Zanneth seemed to need prodding in order to allow herself to fully feel her emotions. While Cassandra might seem impassive or uncaring on the outside, she always knew what she was feeling. So in touch was she with her emotions that they rarely overcame her.

It was her way. Some warriors steeled themselves by compartmentalizing to the point of not feeling. Cassandra was the opposite: she felt everything with a sharp clarity. But she had enough practice at it to not let it hamper her in whatever it was that needed doing in that moment. The outcome was the same: when faced with a tragedy, or the death of a friend or colleague, she did not _panic_ and could continue to function.

Perhaps Zanneth needed some instruction in this? Maker knew that tragedy kept striking her life and scattering it all to hell.

After a time, Zanneth's tears dried. But she stayed where she was, on her knees, held by Cassandra. Her breathing was even; the Seeker could feel the soft puffs of breath fluttering one of her loose sleeves. What a thing, to be in love with someone – for Cassandra knew that she was, indeed, in love with this woman – to be able to hold her and soak up her tears, to have her so close you could feel her heartbeat, and yet _know_ that you cannot tell her how you feel.

And Cassandra knew she could not yet tell the Herald of her feelings. Zanneth had been visited by tragedy upon tragedy. She had no memory of the explosion, of receiving the mark which nearly killed her. Her brother and her betrothed were killed in that same explosion. Just as she had begun to find her feet with the Inquisition, she had been beaten nearly to death, causing her to miscarry the last memory of her family.

Despite Zanneth's mixed emotions about that, calling herself a monster and worse, Cassandra knew the elf to be in a better place, having accepted that she could be both sad to no longer have the child, and relieved to not be _stuck_ with a child without a father. Sometimes, Cassandra caught the elf looking upon the children in Haven wistfully, watching fathers with their young children. Zanneth must have truly loved the man she lost, to look upon other men now so wistfully, watching them with their children.

It only drove home what Cassandra knew must be true, at least right now: there was no room in Zanneth's heart for another. Maybe later, after some time had passed, after Zanneth stopped staring wistfully at fathers in Haven, Cassandra could unburden herself and see if the elf reciprocated.

_Or you could tell her now_, Leliana's voice sounded in her mind.

_I cannot tell her now. She weeps!_

_Yes. She weeps. For __**you**__._

Cassandra nearly started at the thought. It had not quite occurred to her. Zanneth only started weeping when she told of Cassandra's horrific death. While Cassandra was proud to know that even tortured and driven half-mad, she would do what must be done in order to secure a better future, it must have been traumatic to witness. She couldn't burden Zanneth further by telling the elf of her feelings.

Could she?

The elf lay in her arms, quietly breathing, almost seeming to nuzzle into the Seeker. Did she weep for Cassandra not simply because she witnessed a terrible thing, but because she felt more than friendship for the Seeker?

_I must know_, Cassandra thought, inhaling of the rich scent of the elf's hair. Even months removed from the woods, Zanneth smelled of trees, moss, and clean, fresh earth. She also smelled of leather, the smell of her hunting jacket and Dalish boots seeming to seep into the elf's skin and reside with her always. It was an intoxicating mix of aromas. Cassandra wished to be surrounded by it, to dive into this small woman and lose her way while exploring the _vallaslin_ that covered her skin.

_Perhaps… I came so close to losing her and didn't know it. Would I have always regretted not telling her? Perhaps I __**should**__ tell her. The way she presses into me now… Perhaps she would be receptive? Perhaps she even feels similarly?_

Horns sounded. Both Cassandra and Zanneth flinched, finally separating and immediately finding their feet. Running to the window, Cassandra poked her head out, looking to the gate of the castle grounds. There, morning sun glinting off the bells of the crier's horns, flapped the King of Ferelden's banner in the breeze.

"Shit," Cassandra muttered. "The king is here."


	31. A Compromise

"We were supposed to negotiate with Fiona this morning," Cassandra said, chewing on her lower lip.

"What will the king do?" Zanneth asked.

Cassandra turned from the window, all thoughts of revealing her romantic feelings gone in the face of this new obstacle. _It will have to wait, at least a little longer._ "He can do whatever he likes. The mages allowed a Tevinter Magister to rule over them for almost two _months_. They allowed the rightful ruler of these lands to be forced out by said Magister. They were here as guests of the king, refugees, and in answer they flouted his authority and allowed his arl to be ousted. I know only that he will not order everybody's death; King Alistair is a practical man, and a former templar recruit. He knows how difficult that would be. And he is also not that cruel. If I had to guess? He will order the rebel mages exiled from these lands."

Zanneth nodded. "Perhaps this is unjust of me, but… wouldn't that put us in an even better place for negotiations? Did they not come here for lack of anywhere _else_ to go?"

Cassandra blinked several times in silence, stupefied by the Herald's brilliance. "I… you are right. How…?"

The elf's face colored beautifully. Cassandra so wished to cool that flush with the touch of her lips, but now was not the time. "I have had many conversations with Revka, not all of it friendly chatter. I suppose it started to make sense."

The Seeker nodded. "We should go meet them. In lieu of a true leader, you, myself, and Cullen should be present for the king and his entourage. So that we might explain why the Inquisition is here, and that the Magister is no longer in charge."

Zanneth nodded, immediately going to the pile of her things that the servants had left overnight. After a few minutes, she wore her boots and the tabard of the Inquisition over her simple homespun clothing, her hunting knife tucked in at the small of her back. "I am ready."

Cassandra nodded, then realized something. "Wait… your bow. What happened to it?"

Zanneth's deep brown eyes held hers. "I gave it to Leliana."

The Seeker was confused for all of a second. Then she understood: the Leliana in that terrible future the elf had spoken of. Zanneth had sacrificed her mother's hunting bow to the Inquisition's spymaster.

"But, it was your mother's."

"Yes. It was. Then it was mine. Then it was Leliana's. It served each of us well."

What strength that must have taken. Zanneth's fortitude continued to surprise Cassandra. The elf's strength was so quiet, so subtle, but it was no less mighty for that.

Cassandra accepted the answer, and they left her quarters, making a quick stop at Cassandra's room so she might don her own tabard, as well as a small selection of her weapons, before making haste to the portcullis. Cullen was already there, his scouts in a large arc around the courtyard.

"Where is Solona?" Cassandra asked, brows furrowed as she took in the representatives of the Inquisition gathered – Bull, his few Chargers, Sera, Varric, Vivienne and Solas, as well as Cullen's scouts and Leliana's agents (disguised as simple soldiers). Only Solona was missing. Was she having a lie-in?

"I do not know," Cullen said. "I asked everyone I could, but nobody has seen her. Her rooms went unused."

Cassandra did not like it. The woman disappeared in the night? Was she going back to Haven, to be with Leliana? The Seeker could only hope so. It seemed the logical conclusion. Even separated by nearly a year and a half, Solona's devotion to the Inquisition's spymaster was unmatched.

"We shall have to proceed without her."

"Why is her presence so necessary?" Zanneth asked quietly.

Cassandra looked down into the elf's rich brown eyes. "She and Ferelden's king are as sister and brother. They were both Grey Wardens during the Blight ten years ago. Both have since left the Order in the hands of Ser Oghren, who accompanied them during that quest. But still they remain closer than friends. I remember Solona making the journey to Denerim once, just to act as midwife to the queen. King Alistair knows Solona has been missing – that sibling relationship extends to Sister Leliana, as well – and it would work in our favor for him to see that our efforts here freed Solona from Alexius's captivity."

The elf nodded. "I see. Perhaps he can still be convinced. I do not think the Inquisition can afford to be enemies of this land's king."

"A fair assessment," Cullen said, "as I only have a small company of soldiers here, and none of them are heavy fighters. If that happened, and the mages chose not to help us, we would be forced to surrender immediately."

"Let us hope it does not come to that," Cassandra said, shaking her head. "We are not here to cause _more _chaos. Come, the gate opens. No more chatter."

As the gate slid open, Fiona joined them. Cassandra had no time to question her on Solona's whereabouts, however. There was now enough room between the portcullis and the ground for soldiers to march through. The force was small, however. Perhaps the rest of the king's army was a short ways off? Surely he brought a force large enough to oust the Tevinter Magister? Arl Teagan would have gone _directly_ to his nephew, the king, with this matter.

The question of Solona's whereabouts was answered quickly, at least. The king came riding into view, and next to him, upon a beautiful chestnut mare, was Solona, in the clothing she had worn the day before, her hair now shorn short, as she customarily kept it. In front of the mage, directing the horse's movements, was none other than the king's eldest child, Princess Wynne.

Cassandra shook her head. "Of _course_. Of _course_ she knew the king approached. Of course she would go meet him. Why did she say nothing to us? A warning of his approach would have been more than useful."

"Perhaps because she feels no allegiance to any of us, and wishes us to know it?" Cullen said, eyes fixed upon the sister of his wife. His expression was difficult to read.

"Or perhaps she merely saw the opportunity to visit a dear friend," Fiona suggested. "They are as siblings, yes? Look at how she dotes upon the princess."

Cassandra could not deny that the former Grand Enchanter was correct. Perhaps it was that simple. Solona saw an opportunity to visit with her surrogate family, and she took it. Need it be more complicated than that? In Cassandra's experience, if Solona had wished to thumb her nose at anyone, it would not be subtle. They would know her opinion of them, no matter what it was. The Seeker should stop assuming this would play like Orlesian court politics. That was one thing Cassandra and Solona had in common – they both _detested_ the Game.

The king's herald, standing between two buglers, raised his voice, causing a hush to fall over those assembled. "His royal Majesty, King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden; their royal Majesties, princess Wynne and the princes Duncan and Bryce Theirin, heirs to the throne of Ferelden; Zevran Airanai, companion to his Majesty; and Solona Amell, Hero of Ferelden and the Fifth Blight, and Champion of Redcliffe."

Cassandra watched the king's face. He visibly rolled his eyes at the fanfare, and smirked over at Solona when she was announced. She, too, rolled her eyes. Clearly, they were alike in many ways. Truly, they could not have been more alike if they _did_ share parents. _Though they would perhaps __**look**__ more alike…_ The king, pale of skin and blonde of hair, looked nothing like the dark-skinned, white-haired arcane warrior, nor her sister, who looked similar, though with black hair. The only physical trait the king and the Hero shared was their height: Solona stood taller than Cassandra and Cullen both, and the king stood just a hair taller than _her_.

Alistair stopped his horse, staring down at Cullen, Cassandra, and Zanneth. He seemed to decide Zanneth was in charge, addressing her alone. "Herald of Andraste," he said, and Cassandra could almost _feel_ Zanneth cringe at the title. "Our friend tells us a most interesting tale. You defeat the Magister who ousted our uncle, Arl Teagan. You free the sister of our heart, the Hero of Ferelden. And you bear the mark that can close the Breach in our skies above the Frostbacks. We are thankful to you for restoring order and returning to us one who is like family."

"Curtsey, Zanneth," Cassandra hissed, unheard by the king, watching the elf stand dumbfounded next to her. "Or bow! The king extends his thanks for all to hear!"

Belated, but not rudely so, Zanneth did as she was instructed, bending both knees and bowing slightly. "It was necessary, Your Majesty," she said simply.

Alistair laughed, a booming, infectious thing that caused even Cassandra to smile. "So modest!" He sobered after a moment, getting off his horse and handing the reins up to the long-haired, blonde elf at his side. Cassandra knew him to be the man announced, Zevran. She had heard many tales of the man. This was her first time seeing him, however. She was surprised to find he was an elf. She wasn't sure any of Leliana's or Solona's stories of him had revealed that detail.

_And it matters why?_ Cassandra smirked internally. Divine Justinia's voice seemed always to be the gentle rebuke of her conscience.

"Come," the king said, walking forward, now looking upon Fiona. Inexplicably, the elven mage was silent, a peculiar look in her eyes as she looked upon Alistair. "You are the former Grand Enchanter, yes?"

"I- Yes, your Majesty," the elf said, curtseying.

His smile was gone, his eyes hard. "Let us break our fast and revisit the terms of our arrangement. You can't stay here. But we're not completely blind to your plight. We are sure some other arrangement can be found."

Behind him, Solona also dismounted, grabbing the girl she had ridden with and placing her upon her feet. Cassandra was unsurprised to see the little girl cling to Solona's side, despite her age of at least eight years. Solona seemed always to have that effect upon children. And clearly, it was a lasting effect, if Sera's behavior was any indication.

With one last strange look upon Alistair's visage, Fiona nodded, murmuring "Yes, your Majesty" before turning to lead them inside for negotiations.

* * *

"You cannot take the mages as prisoners or hostages!"

Solona was heated. In fact, her blood boiled inside her. This was unbelievable. What Cassandra suggested…

"They have proven they are unable to govern themselves!" the Seeker responded, just as hotly, brows furrowed, the scars upon her cheeks pulling her mouth into an unintentional sneer. "_Someone_ must look over them!"

"Ladies, please!" Alistair roared, getting to his feet. Cassandra backed off, murmuring her apologies, clearly embarrassed to be shouted at by the _king_. Solona, however, merely rounded on him. They were in private negotiations; she cared not for his rank here.

"Alistair, I understand why the mages cannot stay here. And I don't think they should, either. But I will not stand idly by while the Inquisition seeks to _use_ them with no offer of equal footing! Mages go from jailor to jailor – let them be true equals in this!"

Alistair stepped forward until he could touch Solona, then he took her by the shoulders, his brown eyes holding hers. "Solona. Calm. Down. Nothing can happen if we cannot keep cool heads."

Solona's temper flared to life with that. "Say that to me again after you spend _six months_ captive, being driven slowly _mad_!" She made no move to remove herself from Alistair's grasp, however. She found his presence comforting, an ounce of familiarity in a world that had changed dramatically in her absence.

The king sighed. "I'm sorry. You're right. But still, cool heads must prevail. Just… try to think of what Wynne would do, all right?"

Solona blinked, temporarily speechless. Is that how he governed? _Smart man. That woman could have run the __**world**__ with a good finger wagging._ His laughing brown eyes, so serious right now, confirmed that this was, indeed, his mantra when it came to ruling, to negotiating, to dealing with conflict of any sort, and probably when it came to his children, as well. Taking a deep breath, Solona nodded, turned, and regained her seat.

For the first time, Zanneth, the Herald, finally spoke. "We came to Redcliffe to negotiate for the aid of the mages in closing the Breach. I admit I am new to this conflict between templars and mages; the Dalish are rarely harassed by templars, and magic is openly encouraged. Our clan leader _is_ a mage. But, given what I know, I can see what caused the mages to rebel. The Dalish wished independent governance as well. Elves have lived as sub-human in human society since the fall of Arlathan. It seems mages, whether human or elven, live as sub-human, as well. Or they have…until this conflict."

Solona watched Cassandra's face do all _sorts_ of flips and turns as she processed what the Herald said. The arcane warrior knew the Seeker's opinion on magic and its users was complicated. She knew the woman's history with blood mages, and she knew that until only a handful of years prior, the woman's only lover was a loyal mage of the Montsimmard Circle. That man likely perished at the Conclave. While Cassandra and her lover had parted ways more than two years before, Solona knew she must have grieved.

_Damn this Elder One. So much heartache. And for what? A great hole in the sky? What does he want? The Fade?_

"It _is_ more complicated than that," Solona allowed, feeling a pang of guilt at Cassandra's obvious discomfort. "Mages _can_ be dangerous. Mages with no training, or mages who are greedy or power-hungry, can cause a great deal of damage before someone comes by who is able to put it right. But so can a man with a sword and ill-intent. So can an army who follows their leader blindly. Just look at the damage Loghain Mac Tir caused, or Rendon Howe. Loghain, at least, had good intentions. Howe was simply power-mad, and his position allowed him to cause a great _deal_ of suffering." The queen, Elissa, still bore the scars from Howe's ill treatment. Alistair, too, bore the scars from _Loghain's_ torture. Solona did not share this with the room, however.

"So you think we should still be in the Circle?!" Fiona exclaimed. It was the first time she spoke. Her eyes had been caught repeatedly by the king, and it puzzled Solona. Why would this Orlesian elven mage be so enamored of the king? Surely it was more than Alistair's handsome visage? Did the former grand enchanter wish to tumble Ferelden's king?

"I did not say that, Fiona," Solona said. They had known each other for years, from court, and from Solona's visits to the White Spire. They did not always agree, but Solona had always found the Grand Enchanter to be an admirable woman with a very good head on her shoulders. She reminded Solona all too well of her own former master, the late First Enchanter of Ferelden's Circle, Irving.

Solona had traveled to Ferelden to attend his funeral. Much had changed. Alistair had made good on his promise to change the plight of the mages. He really did _care_.

Which was why he was here, and not simply ousting the mages with no care for what happened to them once they were gone.

"Then what do you mean? Be clear, Solona," Fiona said, scolding her how Irving or Wynne might have.

Solona sighed. She had lost so many. And yet she always seemed to find more to fill that role in her life, even if the empty place in her _heart_ could never be filled. She just made room for more. "What I mean is that perhaps the mages need some sort of _transition_ into governing themselves. Regular society is not completely free. There are armies, police forces. Guards patrol cities to keep crime down. Templars guard the Chantry from trouble, in addition to minding mages in the Circles. A child who goes straight from her mother's bosom to the streets often ends up in trouble, in need of help. That is precisely what happened _here_, Fiona. Your people looked for someone to lead them, to protect them, because while they are 'free,' they still do not how to function on their own. Not truly."

Cassandra perked up. "You seek an alliance with the mages and the Inquisition?"

"Aye, I do," Solona said, nodding. "Give the mages purpose. Let them live with the _same_ autonomy as anyone else in the Inquisition; that is to say, if someone breaks a law or hurts someone, then let them experience the same level of punishment as anyone else who might. But for those who do as they should, and learn to function as anyone else, _let them_. Let them learn to be a part of society, and let the non-mages in the Inquisition see that we are _people_, flawed and sometimes after power, but more than anything that we simply want to _live_. Let us have our lovers, our families, our children, our joys and our sorrows, and let us have it without templar oversight. Let mage children grow up with families that will not throw them to the wolves, as mine did. And if someone should cause harm or become an abomination, deal with them accordingly, just as we would a murderer, or a thief, or a tyrant."

The room was quiet after Solona's impromptu speech. All included in the meeting with her – Alistair, Cassandra, Fiona, and Zanneth (two mages, two agents of the Inquisition, and the king to mediate) – sat in thought, some with knit brows, others merely staring into space in contemplation.

The Herald was the first to break the silence. "This arrangement sounds more than fair to me. We have templars in the Inquisition who did not join the mage-templar war; who sought peace with the Divine instead of violence with the Seekers, correct?"

Cassandra nodded. "Yes. They are not enough to oversee the entirety of the Orlesian and Ferelden Circles, but with this arrangement, _oversight_ would not be what is needed. A small force should be enough. I see no abominations here, in Redcliffe." Her eyes sought Fiona's. "I am impressed at the discipline among your people. Assuming the same level of discipline can be maintained in Haven, those templars we have should be adequate to deal with any problems that would require their special abilities."

Fiona nodded. "Yes, yes, I see what you both mean. As if there was a… a _branch_ of soldiers who have the ability to take down bigger threats than petty thievery."

"Precisely!" Solona exclaimed, pushing to her feet so she could pace. Inactivity had been unbearable for the mage ever since she left the Ferelden Circle. After six months locked in a cell, she longed to _move_ at any opportunity, despite how sore it made her to stretch out atrophied muscles. "When a guard cannot handle a problem, when it is beyond his or her skill as someone with mundane abilities, then let a templar be fetched. And why stop there? Train mages who wish to learn, and incorporate them into your martial forces, _in addition_ to those trained as templars. Have them all watch each other as soldiers do, to keep each other safe. But also give them the opportunity to form camaraderie as soldiers do."

She stopped, turning and catching each person's eyes in turn. "Each one of us has loved someone who is not like us," she said. "I do not know the details for you all, but it is impossible not to. Alistair has loved two separate mages as family. Cassandra, as well, has formed lasting relationships with mages. Zanneth, your Keeper is _crucial_ to Dalish culture, to the clan's safety. And Fiona, I _know_ you still think on your time with the Orlesian Wardens with fondness, and you were the only mage among their numbers. This is _proof_ that we can live together. If we can do so with love and compassion – not _forgetting_ the danger, but doing what we can to live with the risk and handling it when it comes… if we can do this, then we have brought Andraste's vision to life!"

Solona had not forgotten what she saw in the Temple of Sacred Ashes ten years earlier. Neither had Alistair, nor Leliana. Cassandra had not seen it, but Solona remember her listening with rapt attention when Solona and Leliana told her of it, asking _many_ questions. In the end, she had believed that the system they had at the time – the one that had since crumbled – was not what the holy Bride of the Maker had envisioned. Enacting her true vision was difficult, but Solona was sure that they could, especially now. It would rise like the phoenix from the ashes of what came before.

"Perhaps it could work," Cassandra said, eyes narrowed in thought. She turned to Fiona. "Assuming Cullen agrees, as well as Sister Nightingale and Ambassador Montilyet, when we return to Haven, I would be willing to extend the protection of the Inquisition to the mages of the former Circles."

"As would I," Zanneth said immediately. "Anyone who wished to join."

"And those who don't?" Fiona asked. "There will be those that do not trust an Inquisition started by a Seeker, even one who left the Order."

"They are free to leave, to seek their fortune elsewhere," Cassandra said. "But they would forsake the Inquisition's protection. They cannot have it both ways. We protect our own first, and do what we can for those outside our numbers, but our priority is to first close the Breach, and then to find the one responsible for it and for the Divine's death. We seek an end to the chaos, Fiona." Cassandra sighed, glancing to Solona. "If they wish to be treated like anyone else, then this is the offer."

Solona nodded, seating herself once more. "That is the same that is on offer to anyone, correct? Join the Inquisition, or don't. But the Inquisition can only do so much, and its members come first."

"That is correct."

Fiona sighed. "It is all that is available us. And it is a most agreeable and generous offer. But disseminating it to my people is… troublesome."

"Let _us_," Alistair said, his hand landing on Solona's shoulder. "Perhaps someone who is outside both theirs and the Inquisition's numbers might have more sway with our words."

Fiona was silent as she considered Alistair's offer. Her eyes grew shiny, like they might well with tears soon, though none appeared. Then she nodded. "Yes. All right. You and Solona may tell them what is offered to them, and they may make their decision."

"Excellent. I will stay for a week with my men. Your people have that long to decide and leave, whether they go to Haven and the Inquisition, or to seek their fortune elsewhere."

"That is more than fair, your Majesty," Fiona said quietly.

As the meeting disbanded, Solona called over Cassandra. "I would leave for Haven immediately, Seeker." She looked to Alistair. "It is good to see you and your children, Alistair, but Leliana still knows nothing of me. It was deemed too dangerous to let news of my rescue be written in a message. I _must_ get to her. I _ache_ for her."

Alistair nodded. "I understand. Unfortunately, I cannot accompany you. The political backlash of visiting there in person…"

"Myself and the Herald will accompany you," Cassandra stated matter-of-factly. "And likely some others. Cullen must stay to oversee the evacuation here. His people will need their commander for that."

Solona nodded. "We leave at first light?"

"Aye, we can do that. I will inform the others." Cassandra turned to go, leaving Solona and Alistair alone.

"Well. I have you for the rest of the day, at least," he said. "Plenty of time to get drunk and eat everything we can find. You're so thin, Solona."

Solona snorted. "Fatherhood looks good on you, Alistair. But I swear I never would have guessed you'd become a mother hen."

"Laugh all you like. I happen know a particularly murderous redhead who would gut me if I allowed you to continue as you are, not taking care of yourself."

"You're probably right at that," Solona said, sobering. "I confess, Alistair, I do not know to what I return. Cassandra said Leliana has grown cold. I have been gone so long. I meant to return and tell all to her last spring, but that was… _delayed_. What now do I do?"

Alistair's hand rested upon Solona's shoulder again, and she looked up into his eyes. His expression was soft, sympathetic, as he spoke. "You throw yourself at her feet, beg her forgiveness if you must and hope that she is capable of it. You can do no more, Solona. Any amount of explaining _before_ she decides to forgive you will fall on deaf ears." He paused, smirking cheekily. "So to speak."

Solona also smirked, but couldn't bring herself to laugh. "Yes. You are right. I shall have to throw myself upon her mercy."

"She _loves_ you, Solona. She will be angry, but that anger comes from _love_. Hopefully she knows that, too."

Solona smirked. "Channeling Wynne again?"

"I named my oldest child for her, Solona. It's hard to forget her wisdom when I am faced with her in miniature every day."

His hand dropped, and Solona wandered away, looking out the window. The Breach loomed ever on the horizon, drawing her gaze at every turn.

"Come on, Solona. Tomorrow you go to your love. Today, come spend time with your other family. We have all missed you and worried for you."

Solona turned, smiling. "Yes. All right. I shall also endeavor to eat all I can. Is it only _my_ appetite that has dwindled with age?"

"No," he said, shaking his head as they headed for the door. "Mine, as well. Perhaps the older a warden gets, the less he needs to sustain himself?"

"Perhaps. I suppose we'll know when and if little Wynne's voracious appetite ever dwindles?"

They both laughed. Solona's heart was soothed. She could not yet see Leliana, but she would very, very soon. And in the meantime… she would be surrounded by family.

* * *

_A/N: All right, folks. We're all caught up to what I've written. I actually wrote the whole next chapter, but I decided today that it pretty much needs to be rewritten. BUT! It will be worth it, I promise. It'll be much better._

_Also, all you people who are worried about me not including a certain reunion yet, it's on its way, I **promise**. I just had to wrap up a few things first._


	32. Reunion

Leliana sat upon her bed in her cabin, tears welling in her eyes as she read from the last letter she received from Solona, so long ago.

...

_My Dearest Leliana,_

_My mission is nearly complete. Another month or two on the road, and then I shall be home, in your arms. I am so sorry this has taken so long. And I know you tire of hearing it, but I am sorry I must keep the details from you. I will not explain my reasons another time, as I know you also tire of them. But it pains me to keep anything from you. I will tell all upon my return, I promise._

_Are you well? This meeting between templars and mages you told me of – how do those plans come along? A Conclave of templars and mages, at the Temple of Sacred Ashes… Who would have thought, ten years ago, that we might be on the precipice of showing the Divine, head of the Chantry, what we saw as we made our way through the Gauntlet? Certainly not I. I always thought it would be a lifetime of work to effect __**any**__ change. What will we do once this is accomplished?_

_I shall tell you of my dreams for us, on the long, cold nights I spend on the trail. I envision a little cottage, perhaps in the Emprise du Leon, with enough land for a horse, some chickens, and that vegetable garden you keep dreaming about. A little place, all our own, with nobody else to direct our lives. We have spent all our lives in service to someone else, to someone else's cause. Let it be just us, with Max and Bella. I can open a clinic, and we can __**both**__ practice our knowledge of healing, of helping people, perhaps feed those less able than ourselves. We can travel when we wish, visit Alistair and Elissa and the children, Revka and Josephine in Val Royeaux._

_I do not know if any of it is possible, but it is a wonderful vision to go to sleep with at night. I have seen it in stark clarity in the Fade while I dream. I long to show it to you, my love. To take you with me into the Fade and show you the dream I have for us._

_I love you dearly, and miss you fiercely. Sometimes, sitting upon my horse, my mind strays from the monotonous countryside. I find myself in your arms, touching your skin, kissing your lips. I find myself staring at your body, your beautiful breasts and your delicious backside. In my dreams, you wear nothing but a smile, and it lights my very __**soul**__. When I return to myself, I find I am both lightened by the thought of your crystalline eyes, and saddened that I cannot yet return to your embrace._

_Soon, that will not be true. Soon, I will return, and I can be with you once more. _

_Send my love to Revka, please._

_With love,_

_Your Solona_

...

"Solona…" Leliana whispered, sniffling and wiping her eyes. The letter had been read many times. It had its own place upon the small table next to her bed. Leliana put it there now, where it lay flat, all kinks and crinkles from its journey to her seven months before gone from her constant smoothing.

A sudden, savage spike of anger flared to life then, and Leliana crushed the letter in her fist. She was gone! Disappeared, without a trace! She never came home, as promised! She just _stopped writing_. Leliana knew that something had happened to keep Solona away, but she could not help the anger. What was this mission that was so important? Why had she even been gone in the first place?

If Solona had _been_ at the Conclave, this all would have turned out differently! Why must she be gone for so long?! It had been a year and a half! Leliana had lost hope long ago that she would ever see Solona again.

"Damn you, Solona," she breathed, pulling the crumpled letter apart again, smoothing it upon her bedspread. She was angry, yes. And grieving. As she read this letter yet again, she had begun to truly mourn. It had hit her that, if she had not found Solona by now, she never would. Even if the former warden were still alive, the likelihood that she would be found was infinitesimal at this point. And she was _so_ angry, at both Justinia _and_ Solona, for doing that to her.

For leaving her alone in this chaos, with no support, and no guidance.

Bella's ears suddenly perked up, and then both she and Max were at the door, looking from it to Leliana, quivering. Leliana was perplexed. Pushing Filou from her lap, she went to the door, opening it so all three animals could dart outside.

Max bounded away immediately, his face up and his mouth open. Leliana could not hear it, but she knew he was _roo-roo-rooing_ as he ran. What could possibly get him like that?

A crowd was gathering outside the main entrance into Haven, but the spymaster could not see what it was for. Commanding Bella to her side, she stepped away from her cabin, pleased that the crowd parted for the mabari walking with her.

When she reached the top of the steps, she stopped, heart pounding. Max was wiggling, shaking his tail-less rump as he attacked the face of someone lying on their back with kisses. There was only one person he would do that for, who he would leave Leliana's side for without checking that it was okay first.

"Solona," she breathed, watching as the person upon the ground was finally able to sit up. White hair glinted in the afternoon sun. Laughing eyes were revealed, too far away to see the color, though Leliana knew them to be slate grey. The dark-skinned visage was colored by a purple flourish tattooed into the skin.

It was Solona. She was back. She was alive, and whole, right here, in Haven. Surely this wasn't real?

As Leliana watched, her heart somewhere in the vicinity of her navel, Revka broke through the crowd. Leliana watched the younger Amell sister approach Solona, likely with a smirk – Leliana was truly too far away to see – and hold out her hand. Her sister took it, and then both Amell sisters were on their feet, locked in a fierce embrace.

They parted. Leliana watched Solona look upon her sister with a smile. A _smile_! What right did she have to smile? She had been gone, and now she _smiled_ and greeted her sister, as if it had only been mere weeks, and not _over a year_, that she had been gone. What right did she have to be happy now? She had not yet even _seen_ Leliana atop these steps!

Leliana's heart came roaring back into her chest. Her blood felt as though it might boil within her veins. She pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes, and _watched_ as Solona held her hand to Revka's belly, eyes incredulous as she took in the fact that she was to be an aunt.

Cassandra and the Herald, along with Bull, Sera, and Krem, were still mounted, just filing inside the wall surrounding the village. Leliana tracked the Right Hand's movements, an ugly resentment brewing in her chest. Cassandra did not tell her of Solona's whereabouts? Leliana had received a missive saying all had gone as planned in Redcliffe. So where had Solona been? Why was she with them now?

_Why did she say nothing? What is her angle? Why would she keep this from me?_

_What does that self-important, inconsiderate bitch __**want**__ from me?_

The thought filled her with a sliver of regret, but she could not muster the guilt at the moment. It was how she felt. Whatever Cassandra's game was, Leliana would get to the bottom of it.

Solona's eyes _finally_ flashed up, scanning the crowd with a furrow between them until they landed upon Leliana. The spymaster narrowed her eyes further. As Solona began to extricate herself from her sister, pushing Max off of her, Leliana turned on her heel, calling Bella softly to her and walking back the way she had come.

If this were indeed real… Solona would come after her. _It's the least she can do after leaving me alone for so long._

She fancied her name being called. While she could not remember quite how it sounded, she still remembered the _feel_ of Solona's voice: how husky it could be, sending shivers down Leliana's spine; how much feeling it could hold when speaking of her love for the former bard; how the sound of it coupled with those hooded grey eyes could send Leliana straight from satiation right back into arousal once more. Even deaf, when Solona spoke, Leliana could feel those things still, for it was not merely the sound of her voice, but her very _being_ that communicated those thoughts and feelings.

But the memory angered her now, as she walked back to her cabin. She had been denied those feelings for so long. And for _what_?! Leliana had been kept in the dark, not even given a proper reason for her abandonment!

Bella kept looking behind her, then looking up to Leliana, eyes concerned. Likely she whined. The spymaster clucked her tongue, a gentle rebuke for the mabari. The dog dutifully looked forward, though Leliana could see Bella still bore a great amount of tension in the way she walked.

Leliana reached her cabin in time to feel a gentle touch to her shoulder. She ignored it, opening her door and stepping inside.

She left the door open.

She knew the door had been shut when the flames stopped sputtering in the fireplace. Was she ready to face her love? For that was what she was. Despite Leliana's anger, the woman standing just inside the door was her love. That knowledge was what finally gave Leliana the courage to turn around and confront the woman she loved, with whom she was _so_ angry at the moment.

Solona stood, white hair short as always, white brows knit with concern, grey eyes bright after having been out in the sunlight. The arcane warrior's entire demeanor spoke _concern_, but Leliana had no patience for it. But neither would she be the first to break the silence. Leliana would see what Solona had to say for herself.

"Leli…"

The spymaster narrowed her eyes.

Solona's hands came up. _{I am sorry}_, she signed. It was the first time Leliana had seen anyone speak to her this way, this remarkable way that was catered to _her_, since the last time she saw this woman. Her heart began beating much too fast.

"How dare you?" Leliana responded, not bothering to sign. She was out of practice. Besides, she was not in the business of making any of this easier on Solona. "How dare you apologize? As if that fixes it?"

Solona took a step into the room. _{I am sorry}_, she signed again.

Leliana felt _fire_ erupt within her. "Do not apologize to me, Solona Amell. Do not come in here, with no explanation, after a year and a half gone, out of communication for _six months_, and simply _apologize_ as if that will take it all away!" As she spoke, her voice rose, until she was shouting. She had not shouted in _years_.

_{I have no explanation that will make it better, and I do not think it will take the hurt away.}_ Solona took a deep breath, fixing forlorn eyes upon the Inquisition's spymaster. _{All I have is my regret that I hurt you, whether or not I intended it, whether or not it was a necessary evil in order to save others. __**All**__ I have is my apology, Leliana.}_ At the last, Solona used the symbol she had come up with all her own, to represent Leliana. Her fingers waved to signify fire, while the other hand signed a bird: Leliana's signed name, to Solona, was a phoenix.

The spymaster's heart gave a mighty kick to see that again, after so long. "I can't… I can't just _forgive_ you, Solona! You were _gone_! You _left me alone_! Do you even know all that has happened?! The Divine is dead, there is a hole in the sky, and you… you have been gone for _all of it_…" Her throat threatened to close on her if she continued to speak. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hands and plunged on, finding that the signs had never left her.

_{I have needed you, Solona! I have needed your strength! I have needed your love. I have needed you to keep me sane.}_ She paused, feeling the tears well in her eyes. _{I have needed you so much, Solona. And I did not even know __**why**__ you were gone.}_

To her surprise, Solona started crying, stepping forward before falling to her knees at Leliana's feet. Hesitating only a moment, Leliana reached out, so surprised by this vulnerability. Her very _being_ screamed at her to reach out, to comfort, despite her anger not yet being spent. Her hand, gloved to shield against the cold, to shield against the ink from her missives, and above all to shield her from the world and its scrutiny, touched Solona's head. Her fingers sifted through Solona's hair, and before she quite knew what she was doing, she drew closer to the mage, pulling her lover's face into the fabric over her belly.

If Solona spoke, Leliana did not see it. She merely held the mage as she _sobbed_, holding tightly around the spymaster's legs. Leliana felt her heart melt, warming as this woman who meant the _world_ to her soaked her shirt with her tears. Solona was the strong one. Solona was the one who was invincible. Solona was the one who could look at the world and laugh, mocking those who _thought_ they had power and finding joy in empowering those who had none. And now Solona wept. No, she _sobbed_. Her whole body was wracked with grief. Time and time again, Leliana felt Solona convulse, and all she could do was wrap her arms around the mage and hold on as tightly as was possible.

Finally, Solona's body calmed, the sobs lessening slowly until she merely held to Leliana for dear life. Leliana risked pulling back a little, straightening so that she might cup Solona's cheek. A hint of her former anger resided within her, but she knew that all she needed was to look upon her lover's face, and it would melt away. She did not like being angry like that, not at those she loved and trusted so. She longed to rid herself of that anger.

So she did what she must to accomplish that. Palming Solona's cheek, she rejoiced when Solona leaned into the caress. A gentle suggestion had the arcane warrior looking up into Leliana's face, and the spymaster was taken aback. Her heart thawed the rest of the way to see the lines upon Solona's face. Accompanying them were scars, small nicks and divots on the mage's cheeks and chin. They should not be possible, not for someone able to heal herself of any physical injury. For the first time, Leliana saw how thin, nearly _gaunt_, Solona was. Her shoulders hunched even now, looking up as she did.

This was not the tall, strong, invincible woman Leliana had last seen. Solona had been beaten, cowed, and while she was perhaps not broken, she was _bruised_ down to her very core. Something _terrible_ had happened to her.

It occurred to Leliana, in that moment, that she was incredibly lucky to be here, with Solona in her arms, at all.

"Show me," she whispered, looking into Solona's eyes. "Show me what happened. Show me where you have been, Solona."

She watched Solona swallow, blink, and then suddenly her eyes glowed. The arcane warrior surged to her feet, taking Leliana in her arms, lifting her, carrying her to the bed and laying her upon it. Then Leliana had those warm hands on her, one on her forehead, the other moving aside her collar to touch the skin at her collarbone. With one last look into those glowing eyes – the ones that showed her where dreams were made – she closed her eyes, allowing Solona's presence to sweep her up and whisk her away into a dream.

* * *

Leliana opened her eyes upon the raw Fade. She and Solona had only done this a handful of times, as the spymaster found it more than a little disconcerting. But she knew that Solona could manipulate the Fade at will, and that this would be simpler, more real than a mere explanation. Leliana wanted to understand. This would show her all that had happened.

Suddenly Solona was next to her. She still couldn't hear in the Fade – it reacted to the minds of those who touched it, and Leliana's mind no longer remembered sound well at all – but still she got some impression of sounds and ideas when she was here with her conscious mind. So when Solona spoke without turning to her, the former bard understood without Solona needing to sign.

"A moment," she said, and Leliana got the impression of many voices speaking her words. Solona lifted her hands, her brow furrowing, and then the two women were in Val Royeaux, the marble of the Grand Cathedral running beneath their feet.

The quality of the vision was like a dream, hazy and wistful. Solona began walking, and Leliana hurried after her. It was strange to be in this place again. It had been many months since Leliana had seen the Grand Cathedral. Justinia had been alive then.

Her heart panged at the loss. Solona stopped, turning and holding out her hand. "I am grieved, as well." Leliana could not hear her words, but their meaning imprinted themselves in her mind despite the spymaster looking at the arcane warrior's outstretched hand.

Hesitating, Leliana finally reached out, taking that hand and intertwining their fingers. All was not well just yet, but that was part of why they were here. And now… now they could help each other mourn. That was part of what Leliana was missing in having Solona gone all this time – a partner to help shoulder her burdens.

"I am here now," Solona said, and Leliana looked up to see glowing eyes. Solona's thumb rubbed the back of her hand. "Let me show you why hurting you was the lesser of the evils available?"

Leliana nodded, unable to say a thing. She didn't need to. Anything she thought, the Fade responded to it and gave Solona its impression. This was part of why Leliana found this experience so disorienting – she was used to her thoughts being her own. Though right now, it was rather useful, countering Leliana's inability to find the right words to express herself.

They started walking again, this time hand-in-hand. After a time, they came upon the Divine's private chambers. Solona left Leliana then, releasing her hand and knocking upon the door. Leliana followed as the arcane warrior was permitted entrance.

The spymaster's heart fell through her chest at sight of the Divine. She missed her so much. Of all the people to be taken from them in this crisis, with the Breach threatening the world, why did it have to be Justinia? If the Divine were here, they would have a leader! Someone who knew what to do! Someone with wisdom and the backbone to ensure it was heeded! Seeing the woman now, even in the hazy quality of this dream-world… Leliana did now know what to feel. And she was not given the opportunity to figure it out.

"Solona, thank you. I know the hour is late, but with today's grave news, I have something to ask of you." Divine Justinia was on her feet, clad scandalously in only her dressing gown. Leliana's lips quirked down in a slight frown. While Solona would not care, Divine Justinia had always been most appropriate. Sometimes glimpses of her humanity would come through, but to be half-dressed in front of one who served her was downright scandalous. She must have been agitated, the matter urgent.

"What can I do, Your Eminence?" Solona now spoke. "Does it regard my cousin and the tragedy in Kirkwall?"

"Yes… and no." The Divine stopped pacing, looking upon Solona with her normally-doting eyes. Now they showed panic, fear. What was amiss? "You are aware Lord Seeker Lucius has left the Chantry?"

Ah. So that was what night this was. Three nights before Solona left Leliana, Lord Seeker Lucias had quarreled with the Divine for allowing the mages to hold their vote for independence after Kirkwall. He had left angry, and by nightfall, he had riled up the templars of Montsimmard and led them away from Val Royeaux, pursuing his own vendetta against the mages who would flout his authority.

"Cassandra told us of what transpired," Solona said, nodding. "What can I do?"

"I would save lives," Justinia said. "The mages stand no chance against the Seeker and Templar Orders. I have been thinking on how to protect them until order can be restored, and I think I have the solution. But even _I_ think it is… foolhardy." Her eyes met Solona's, and Leliana experienced a sinking in her gut. This was it. This was the mission the Divine had given Solona _alone_ to accomplish. "I want you to destroy all the phylacteries in all the Circles in Thedas, Solona. And I need you to do it unaccompanied by anyone. No one can know where you are, or what you are doing."

* * *

_A/N: I decided to have part of this mirror the AU one-shot I wrote between these two, The Warden and The Nightingale. I hope this lives up to expectations!_


	33. Making Sense Of It All

_A/N: The long-awaited resolution! Sorry for the wait. Raven Sinead got terribly sick and still managed to beta this and the next chapter, though it took her a while to feel good enough to do so._

_Also, this chapter is where we **finally** get some serious adult content. So weird for me. Smut usually shows up **way** sooner..._

* * *

Leliana's heart beat a steady tattoo upon her breastbone. This was what the Divine had directed Solona to do?! _Destroy all the phylacteries…_

"What?!" Solona asked of the Divine, incredulous. "I can't… what?!" She was still the actor in her memory.

"Think for a moment, Solona," Justinia said, beginning to pace. "You are able to exist free from templars because you destroyed your phylactery, as was your right as a Grey Warden. While some ill-informed initiates might try to trouble you, you cannot be _tracked_. Think of the lives we will save, if we can but level the field for them and inhibit the templars' ability to _track them down_? I must think of all my flock, Solona; templars, seekers, and mages alike. But I cannot personally guarantee their safety. I must appear neutral in this, and rely on others to do what must be done. If anyone learns of what you do, and at _my_ order… then we lose the templars and the seekers forever."

Solona was quiet for a long time. Meanwhile, Leliana's mind raced. It was a brilliant idea! And it explained nearly all of the things Leliana had resented leading up to this revelation: Solona being assigned a mission, taking her away so abruptly from her clinic, her work, and from Leliana's side; her need for secrecy, even from Leliana, who might try to help Solona in her journey in a way that cast the Divine as in favor of the mage rebellion; Solona's need to go alone, and to leave so swiftly. The only thing this did not explain was the mage's disappearance.

Finally, Solona spoke. "Yes, Your Eminence. You are right. It is the only way. It will save so many lives, and meanwhile you shall be able to work toward peace while maintaining the neutrality you would need to achieve it. But… must I go alone?"

Solona left unsaid that she wished Leliana's presence, Leliana's help. The spymaster could see Justinia's understanding in her face. But it was with regret that the Divine spoke. "I need her here, Solona. She is my Left Hand. She does the work for me nobody else can. I know I place a great burden on the _both_ of you, but I would not ask this of you if I thought there were any other way to achieve this goal while _also_ getting the templars and seekers back into the fold."

Solona turned then, and the vision of the Divine, sympathy in her eyes, continued to look upon her, but spoke no more. The image was devastating to Leliana. She stared until Solona began to speak, at which point she tore her eyes away from the Divine, whose death she still mourned.

"I accepted her directive," Solona said to Leliana, holding her gaze. "I took three days to plan. Every time I kept from telling you of this, it broke my heart. But the Divine herself asked me not to say anything until it was time to leave. Then she gave me a day to say a proper farewell. Then I was gone."

All around them, the world shifted, changing, showing many places. Meanwhile, Solona continued to speak. "It saved lives immediately. Under the Seekers' very noses, I snuck into the Grand Cathedral's storage rooms. I crushed each vial until broken glass and old blood littered the floor. Then I set it afire."

Leliana remembered that fire. It had burned out on its own, much to the surprise of the Sisters who had first smelled the smoke. That had been the night after Solona left on her mission for the Divine. "That was you?" They were the first words Leliana spoke here, in this Fade-dream.

Solona nodded, and behind her, flames arose, still shown in that hazy, ethereal light. "Yes. I left before they found the fires, and I did not stop until I was in Ferelden. I went to Denerim, then to the Free Marches. I visited each city, staying one step ahead of the Seeker and Templar horde. I ensured that the explosion in Kirkwall had indeed destroyed the phylacteries. Damian and Bethany were already gone, that _fuck_ Anders dead. I couldn't check with Oghren to see if Bethany had remained loyal to the Order, or if she had remained loyal to Damian. I traveled the sea to Antiva City and snuck myself into the Chantry there, throwing the glass vials into the sea. I went last to Nevarra. And that is where it all fell apart."

The air about them shifted once more, and this time, Leliana found herself in a dimly-lit tavern. Solona left her side again, going to order a drink. Leliana watched as the young man began to flirt with the arcane warrior. They claimed their own table, swapping stories and drinking more and more. Then Leliana saw the man sneak the contents of a vial into Solona's drink.

The Fade-dream went dark when Solona lost consciousness.

It lit again when Solona awoke. But rather than a coherent scene, Leliana found the images around her to be chaotic, and a persistent buzzing filled her head. Solona sat, arms chained to a wall she could not see. Red eyes glowed in the chaos. A dark, ominous voice spoke, like metal upon stone, setting Leliana's teeth on edge, as she felt it rather than heard it. She did not know what it said, but Solona cried out, and then a lash descended, leaving a deep gash upon the arcane warrior's arm.

Time had no meaning. Eventually the dark presence left, but in its place, Solona was taunted. She had food shoved down her gullet, threatening to choke her as she tried to get it down. She was unchained to walk about, to use the privy and occasionally to become clean. She was questioned, beaten, left with the wounds to heal on their own in that filthy place. All with that buzzing filling her head if she concentrated too hard on complex thoughts.

The device. It glowed a sickly yellow, faint but unmistakable. _It_ was what filled her head. Solona wished to smash it over her tormentor's skull. Leliana wished the same.

"_How did you survive the taint?!"_ A constant refrain. Solona had no answer.

Blue eyes teased from the ether. Red strands of hair. _Me_, Leliana realized._ That was all she could think of: me._

Finally, after time unceasing, hands appeared at Solona's wrists, and then Cassandra knelt before her. Solona held her head for a moment, groaning her discomfort, and then a single thought knifed its way through the noise. _Destroy it_. As the noise increased, the buzzing becoming a physical discomfort, Solona reached out and actually _touched_ the device, taking hold of it and smashing it upon the wall.

The buzz ceased, and Solona turned, tears upon her cheeks as she regarded Leliana.

"The noise stopped," she said. "I survived six months of that torture with only one clear thought: _you_. Your hair, your eyes, your sweet voice humming despite your deafness. You kept me sane, Leliana. You saved me, whether or not you knew it. I am not whole, but…"

"Neither are you broken," Leliana finished for her, finally stepping forward and cupping the mage's cheek. "My beautiful, strong Solona. I am so sorry I was so angry."

"I am so sorry I was gone so long."

Leliana looked to where the hazy outline of Cassandra and the Herald stood, observing the smashed remnants of the device used to control Solona and keep her severed from her power. "All is most _definitely_ forgiven."

"Aye," Solona said, pulling Leliana close. "It is. Now, we must away. It has been many hours. The sun has set and you should not linger here longer than necessary."

Leliana nodded, laying her head on Solona's shoulder and closing her eyes, _feeling_ the arcane warrior's body against her. "Yes, all right. Take me home, my love."

"Anything for you, Leliana," came the murmured reply.

* * *

Leliana started awake. She still lay upon her bed. Her cabin was dark except for the fire, the light outside having passed into evening. Turning her head, she saw Solona had collapsed half on the bed, her legs dangling where she had knelt. Moving over, the spymaster reached around the mage, hauling her up and rearranging her into a comfortable position. Then she merely… _looked_, feasting her eyes upon the sight that had been denied her for more than eighteen months.

Her eyes traced over the planes of Solona's face, taking in the wide, flat-ish nose, the white brows, the parted lips that nearly begged to be kissed, and the sweeping, purple tattoo around her right eye. In her sleep, Solona wore the barest hint of her usual half-grin.

Leliana couldn't help it. She reached her free hand out, resting it lightly upon Solona's chest, between her breasts. She felt the rise and fall of the taller woman's breathing and nearly wept with relief. She had to keep touching this woman. Perhaps, with time, she would be convinced that this was real, that Solona was indeed before her, and not a figment of her imagination.

She felt guilty for her anger. It was truly just bad timing. If Leliana had not been so angry before Solona turned up, then their reunion likely would have gone differently. She would have screamed Solona's name and tackled her much how Max had. But Leliana had been grieving, and in that grief she had been angry, hurt at being left alone by both Solona and Justinia, who had deprived her of Solona in the first place.

But she had apologized, been forgiven, and forgiven Solona for her absence. For Solona had been right all along. Her mission had been of the utmost importance. She had saved _so many_ lives, of people who did not even know it.

That aside, how could she remain angry, knowing what she now knew? Solona had asked for Leliana's presence and it had been denied, for Leliana had important work to do for the Divine. Justinia saved Leliana having to choose between her work as the Left Hand and accompanying her lover. It seemed cruel on the outside, but having to choose between her love and her duty would have been crueler. The mage had likely known that, and had obeyed, accomplishing her mission on her own, despite the hardship of being apart from Leliana. And when she thought she was free to come home, when her defenses finally fell for an evening, an opportunistic _snake_ tricked her. The things Leliana saw Solona endure…

Leliana's heart suddenly kicked. Solona was _still_ in the Fade. She had not yet awoken. The handful of times they had done this, it _had_ taken a while for Solona to come back to her, but this… this was taking too long.

_Has she even ventured the Fade since being released?_ Leliana wondered. Perhaps her control was not as tight as it used to be? In her exhaustion… perhaps she was having trouble finding her way back?

Placing her hand on Solona's brow, Leliana did the first thing she could think of: she began to hum. Years before, when they traveled Ferelden during the Blight, this was how Leliana helped Solona wander the Fade. She would play music and sing, guiding her lover back to the physical realm with a familiar voice singing a familiar song. While Leliana could not hear herself, she knew the voice that issued from her throat would be familiar to her lover. It was all she could think of.

Solona's shoulders jerked as the deaf bard continued to hum, her palm stroking the mage's forehead, trying to smooth the wrinkles upon it. The former warden's eyes began moving quickly beneath their lids. What did she see?

Solona jerked again, but this time her eyes opened, a look of shock upon her face. Leliana was pleased to see that they were _her_ eyes, and they did not glow. Seeing where dreams were made was beautiful, but even more beautiful were those grey eyes as they looked upon her.

"There you are," Leliana murmured, moving her hand to cup her lover's cheek. "Were you having a nightmare?"

Solona nodded, closing her eyes and swallowing. Leliana leaned down, kissing that brow that was lined with worry and fatigue. Hands caught her, redirecting her as she pulled back, and then their lips met.

She moaned with satisfaction, with pleasure, with relief. Solona tasted and smelled the same as she always had, like tea and honey, underlined by something deeper, darker, and earthier. Solona's mouth was warm and wet, her tongue and lips molding perfectly with Leliana's, as they always had. It was utterly familiar, and yet it had been missing for so long.

When finally they parted, Leliana found she had been pulled atop Solona, their legs intertwined. Arms were wrapped tightly about her waist, keeping her in place, and keeping her close. Solona's eyes were hooded in the dim light from the fire, the two sets of white lashes nearly touching as the mage looked up into Leliana's face.

"I love you, Leliana," Solona said, holding her gaze. "Never did I stop loving you. I know I said it already, but I would say it here, outside of that dream. You kept me sane, my love. No other thought could have done that."

Leliana was overcome. She felt such joy to have Solona back. It overpowered any other emotion she felt, bringing tears to her eyes as she reached around Solona's neck and waist, pulling the mage as close as she could get.

Their lips blazed afire when they met. Solona's hand came up, pushing Leliana's cowl away, burying itself in her hair. It had been so long since Leliana had been around someone who would dare do that; who would touch her, remove the symbol of her office, demand to be in contact with her raw, natural self. It was both familiar and unfamiliar, and it thrilled Leliana to her core.

Her blood pounding, Leliana ripped herself away from her lover. Solona immediately looked concerned. "Leli?"

Leliana shook her head, pushing herself to straddle Solona's lap and tearing the gloves from her own hands. Solona sat up, understanding upon her visage. She reached out, taking Leliana's hands, now with no barrier between them, and just _held_ them. Their fingers intertwined for a moment.

And then suddenly they were moving, both women absorbed in the task of ridding Leliana of her vestments. They were an important symbol of her office, yes, but for Leliana, they had also become her armor against the world, against the grief, against the pain, against the world's scrutiny. But now she was in the arms of the one who could soothe the hurt, who she _longed_ to be vulnerable in front of, and who she actually _wanted_ to look upon her. With Solona, she didn't want to disappear. She wanted to be seen. To be truly _seen_, as she was, and not as she presented herself for the rest of the world.

She did not need armor here. The wounds could not be healed if they remained shielded.

Leliana shuddered when her undershirt was pulled over her head. She felt so bare, so… _exposed_. But then Solona's hands were there, warm and solid, holding her, providing her stability. The mage's eyes feasted upon the former bard, taking in every detail of her pale skin, her red hair, her features, before landing upon her eyes.

A hand reached up to her hair once more. "It's grown so long," Solona murmured, letting the tresses slide over her fingers.

Leliana reached her own hand up, tracing the thinnest of scars over Solona's chin. She had seen the strike land that put it there. "We have both changed some, love," she said before leaning down and pressing a small kiss to the scar. She felt Solona's arms wrap around her waist, hands pressing to her back as she was hoisted up, their positions switching.

Solona's lips seared as they trailed down Leliana's throat and onto her chest. A few awkward maneuvers had Leliana's breastband unfastened and on the floor, and then those blessedly familiar hands engulfed her breasts, pinching her nipples until they stood erect in the cooling air of the cabin.

It felt _wonderful_. She had been celibate the entire time Solona had been gone, taking another lover never an idea that had occurred to her. Some nights she had touched herself, relieving the ache, but most of the time it was not enough, and it usually ended in tears, the absence of her lover washing over her in those vulnerable moments after release.

But now Solona was here, atop her, kissing and biting and sucking pale skin into her mouth. Leliana's blood pounded through her veins. She could feel its heat, its gentle _thud_, between her legs. Arousal pooled deep in her belly. She was growing impatient.

She _needed_ Solona's skin.

"Solona, please," she whispered, digging her nails in to the mage's scalp and scraping her way down. Solona shuddered under Leliana's touch, and then her lips sought the spymaster's once more.

Leliana sucked on Solona's tongue, holding tightly to her for a moment before pushing her away.

"What-" Solona didn't get to finish. Leliana sat them both up, reaching for the ties to Solona's shirt as she looked up into those eyes, pupils dilated in the firelight. Solona seemed to freeze, like her breath hitched in her chest, and then it was another flurry of activity.

When Solona's skin finally slid along Leliana's, the spymaster groaned aloud. Solona was smooth like silk, radiating heat like she always had. The pads of Leliana's fingers found every scar from the beatings, caressing them before moving on, exploring the plane of Solona's back. The mage kissed her, hard, moving her knee between Leliana's legs and beginning a subtle rhythm against her.

Leliana almost squealed. She was so aroused, her frayed nerves nearly overcome between the emotional journey through the Fade and the long-awaited physical touch of her lover. Her center immediately coated Solona's thigh, easing the friction between them. They both ground together now, no longer kissing, merely looking into each other's eyes as they breathed each other's air and held on for dear life.

Leliana was close. The pressure built, in her core, in her belly, and in a single point between her shoulders. She felt as though it could not coil any tighter, and yet all three points of pressure continued to build, pulling closer and closer together.

Until they burst apart. Leliana came undone, crying out for only a moment before Solona caught her lips in a fierce kiss. Her body spasmed, rocking her against Solona's thigh, spurring her on, prolonging her climax until she finally collapsed, spent for the moment.

She found herself wrapped in those arms, not as strong as they used to be. Solona's body pressed into her, more angular and less muscular than it used to be. Solona's face pressed into her throat, gaunter and with scars, no longer smooth like it used to be. But it was still Solona; her wonderful, beautiful Solona who would set herself _on fire_ to keep Leliana safe. Leliana felt the tears come, wrapping her arms around Solona's neck and holding fast to her.

They were together again. They would be all right. They would help ease, soothe, and heal each other's pain. They would restore Solona's strength and Leliana's warmth. They would both bear scars from this ordeal, but they had made it, and soon they would heal. But for now… Leliana could finally allow herself this, to weep for herself and Solona both in the warmth and safety of her lover's embrace.


	34. Coming Together

_Edited author's note: __Hi, folks. I made the decision to go through and edit out the Sera and Krem romance. I fought the desire to do so - a lot of people were upset, and I didn't want to run from that upset by just removing something someone didn't like. But as I've continued this story, I've realized a key mistake I made: this chapter had been this first time I had written from either Sera or Krem's POV. I always had the **intention** of digging deeper and writing from their perspectives, but it just never happened. When I originally published this, the smut just came out of nowhere for the reader, and that probably contributed greatly to the negative backlash I got for this. _

_So now I'm removing it. If I'm going to do this justice - the issues within the queer community, of a lesbian with a trans* man, of the way each are **defined** by themselves and the greater community - then I need to focus on them. I can't do it properly if I never write from either of their perspectives. I may at some point attempt to dig into this kind of story, but if I do, it won't be in this story._

_Therefore, this chapter is truncated, and rather shorter than original._

* * *

Josie walked at Aisling's side, arm-in-arm. They were on their usual evening walk, chatting today about Solona's return. Cassandra had been short on details, as many of them had to do with the debriefing that would not occur until Solona and Leliana were through their… reunion.

Just the thought of it set Josephine's heart pounding. They were such an attractive couple. Josie couldn't deny she had looked at them longingly on more than one occasion. She had lamented their utter devotion and monogamy on more than one occasion in Val Royeaux.

She looked up at Aisling. The knight was regaling her with a story about the spymaster and her lover in Denerim, from before Josephine had met either woman. Josephine was barely listening. She was much too aware of Aisling's body moving beside hers. Every time her hip brushed against the knight's thigh, she felt her face flush. She could feel the musculature in Aisling's arm beneath her gloved hands. The thought of those arms wrapping around her, keeping her warm, lifting her up…

Her whole body shivered.

"Josephine? Are you cold? I can give you my cloak," Aisling said, stopping and releasing Josie's arm.

"No! No, I am fine, Aisling, thank you," Josephine hurried to answer, taking Aisling's hands to keep the knight from unfastening her cloak. She looked up into the taller woman's face, taking stock of those dark brown eyes. Aisling's gaze held only concern.

Josephine sighed internally. She was frustrated. They had not _bedded_ each other yet, and the ambassador was having a difficult time finding the proper way to go about making that happen. In Val Royeaux, she had been with partners who had made their intentions clear, who were forward, flirtatious, and who had no intention of a prolonged relationship. Josephine had been the same. But this was different. Aisling and Josephine had agreed that they wanted more than a mere liaison for the evening. It was a… _new_ experience. They sometimes kissed chastely, other times finding a secluded spot in the woods – or more inappropriately in Josephine's office – to spend long minutes kissing and murmuring into each other's ear.

But thus far, they had not revisited Josepine's cabin, and they had not removed a single stitch of clothing. It had been so long since Josie had been naked with another – excepting, of course, Haven's now-functioning bathhouse, usually with Leliana and Revka. She so longed to cross that barrier now with Aisling. They had been courting each other openly for nearly a month. Hadn't that been long enough?

Josephine made a decision. If Aisling was too chivalrous, too polite, to presume to take Josie to bed, then the ambassador would just have to be the one to cross over the threshold of propriety. Reaching up, unmindful of the bustling members of the Inquisition about them, Josephine took hold of Aisling's chin and pushed herself up on the balls of her feet, giving the knight a tender kiss. She was pleased when she was rewarded by those strong arms coming to wrap around her waist, steadying her and surrounding her in the delightful scent of the warrior.

Pulling back, she searched Aisling's eyes once more. This time, she found dilated pupils, a hint of desire swimming deep within. Josephine smiled.

"Come with me, Aisling," she whispered, taking the knight's hand and leading her away without another word.

Once inside her cabin, she removed her shoes – really she should wear boots, but she could never bring herself to pair the clunky things with her dresses – in the small mudroom. Then she hung her cloak before walking into the main space, busying herself lighting candles, as the sun was starting to set.

"Josephine?"

Josie ignored Aisling for the moment, finishing her task before finally turning around to find the knight still by the door. "Yes?"

"What did you want with me here?" Aisling was obviously confused. Josie thought it adorable. To the ambassador, what she was doing was obvious – she was getting the room ready. Aisling, however, was clearly befuddled as to what came next.

"Remove your boots and your cloak, Aisling," Josie answered, her voice soft. "Unless you _don't_ wish to stay the night with me?"

Aisling stared for a moment, then suddenly rushed to comply with the enthusiasm of a young teenager about to be bedded for the first time. It made Josie laugh, good-natured of course. It was adorable, and also refreshing. Her first time had been when she was fifteen, with an older man, a visiting friend of her father's. He had been kind with her, but he was incredibly smooth, no hint of uncertainty, knowing exactly what he should do to take her where she needed to go. Ever since, her partners had been similar; it was the Game, after all, the bedchamber. You did not let your guard down just because your clothes came off.

So yes, this was incredibly refreshing, and an entirely new experience. She wasn't sure she'd ever been with someone quite so… earnest as Aisling Cauthrien.

Josephine stoked the embers leftover in the grate from that morning. She was from a hot place, and had always been more susceptible to cold than either of the two Fereldens – Revka and Leliana – she regularly kept company with. Stacking three logs over the still-hot coals, she breathed flame to life, happy when she felt the heat radiating out of the fireplace noticeably increase.

She stood again to find Aisling just hanging her cloak upon the stand by the entrance. Then the knight turned, stepping into the room and looking awkwardly at her feet.

"Oh you are delicious," Josie giggled, taking the few steps needed to bring her to Aisling's side. Pulling her gloves from her hands, she set them aside, then placed her fingers on Aisling's cheek. The knight immediately leaned into the touch. Josephine was pleased to feel hands come to rest on her waist.

Then lips found hers, a hot tongue pressing gently into her mouth. She groaned, reaching her hands up and around the knight's neck, burying her hands in that gloriously thick hair. Working her fingers, she freed the braid, running her fingers through it, undoing the crisscross of strands. Meanwhile, she sucked on the tongue in her mouth, desire pooling in her belly, her heart trying madly to escape through her chest.

"Take me to bed?" she whispered when finally they parted, looking up into eyes swirling with a desire so deep, it nearly took Josie's breath away.

"As you wish," Aisling breathed, pulling them tightly together and covering her lips in a kiss. Josephine felt the knight start to move backward, moving them toward the bed.

She let out a small yelp as their momentum made Aisling sit abruptly, leaving Josie suddenly standing alone, kiss-less.

Aisling let out a quiet chuckle as she pulled Josephine to straddle her lap. "I'll have you know," she said, a glint in her eye, "that no one has ever presumed to let my hair down _for_ me."

Josephine's breath hitched as the knight leaned forward, hands searching for the pins keeping her hair up. "Well, I felt that you would never let your _own_ hair down, so it seemed prudent to force the issue."

Aisling chuckled again, her breath ghosting over Josie's neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Several pins slid free, and then the ambassador felt her hair tickle her neck. Fingers buried themselves in her hair, making it fall the rest of the way, and Josephine let out a groan of pleasure. She had always _loved_ it when people played with her hair. These days, the only person who did was Leliana, brushing and styling her hair after it had been washed. The spymaster never did anything complicated with her own hair, but she did seem to enjoy playing with Josephine's.

Aisling pulled away, leaning over and placing the pins upon the side table. Josie reached out, taking hold of the knight's jerkin and pulling her close once more. "Do not disappear into your chivalry again, Aisling," she said, looking down into the knight's face. "I think I might die if I get this close to touching you and you decide you are not being appropriate."

Aisling's eyes flashed, and then Josie's face was cupped by two beautifully calloused hands, their lips pressed together in a fiery kiss. Almost without her direction, Josie's fingers began to untie the jerkin over Aisling's shirt. The knight never stopped kissing her as she allowed the jacket to be pushed off her shoulders, as she reached for the laces to Josephine's bodice, nor as she growled into the ambassador's kiss and grabbed two good handfuls of her rump.

"Aisling!" Josephine gasped, not displeased in the least as the knight finally left her lips in favor of her throat. The ambassador's breath hitched again, hot and cold shooting down her spine, sending goose bumps up her scalp and down her sides, all the way down to her toes. The knight's hands came back up, continuing their work at her bodice, expert fingers slowly but steadily working the laces free enough for the dress to come away. Josie buried her fingers in Cauthrien's long, thick hair, feeling the waves left in it from the braid, her eyes seeking out the gorgeous streak of silver among the strands.

Finally, Cauthrien stood, taking Josephine with her. The ambassador yelped, but then her dress began its journey over her head. Raising her arms, Josie let it, feeling so _free_ as the garment left her, finding its new home upon the floor. Josie now stood in slip and stockings only, shivering slightly in the still-chill air of the room.

Aisling, meanwhile, seemed to have broken. A stab of insecurity came to Josephine. "I… I know I am not quite as _fit_ as the others," she began, eyes downcast. "I know in Ferelden, woman tend toward fitness. I do not lead a life of activity like Leliana or even Revka. I spend too much time at my desk, and it shows in my figure-"

She was not allowed to finish for the finger pressed to her mouth. The finger slipped down and under her chin, exerting a gentle pressure until Josephine looked up into eyes _dark_ with desire. "My dear Josephine, please _stop_ comparing yourself to other women. I don't want _them_. I want_you_ and your _voluptuous_ curves."

Josephine's heart soared into her throat, and she threw her arms around Cauthrien's shoulders, pulling her down into a fierce kiss. They made short work of the rest of their clothing, and when skin slid against Josie's own, the Antivan woman was nearly overwhelmed. Finally emboldened, she pushed Cauthrien onto the bedspread, not bothering to pull it back before crawling her way on top of the taller, stronger woman.

Her hands went between them, seeking out dark, damp curls as her mouth found a taught nipple. Cauthrien groaned loudly, her fingers burying themselves in Josie's hair once more.

"Maker, Josephine, you are- oh!" Josephine had found the bundle of nerves at the apex of Cauthrien's sex, pressing in and up, circling slowly, torturously. She mimicked her movements with her tongue, teasing the nipple to high attention. Then she switched. As she did so, she moved her hand lower, sliding through folds slick with the knight's arousal.

Finally, poised to enter her new lover, Josephine pulled her face away from the gorgeous breasts in front of her, looking up and into the eyes staring down at her. "Is this what you want?"

The knight nodded. "Very much so."

Josephine licked her upper lip, hoping the answer to her next question would be as enthusiastic. "_Y mi boca, también__?_" she murmured in Antivan, hoping the introduction of her mother tongue would be as erotic for Cauthrien as Orlesian was to Josephine.

Aisling's head dropped back onto the pillow as she groaned aloud. Josephine grinned. She would take that as a "yes." Sliding down her lover's body, she plunged forward with two fingers, relishing the _squeal_ she pulled from Aisling as she lowered her face to drink from the fount of her arousal.

This was oh so much better than she had even anticipated.


	35. Pillowtalk

Cauthrien awoke before the sun. Josephine lay next to her, face relaxed in sleep, mouth open slightly, visible in the pre-dawn gloom. Cauthrien smiled. The ambassador snored faintly in her sleep.

The knight pursed her lips, thinking on the night before as she watched Josephine sleep. Her lover was delicious. Everything about the night was perfect, even those moments when things didn't work quite right or someone tried something the other didn't prefer. Josephine's dark skin seemed made of silk, and her lips were like the most delectable of treats, available only in the most exclusive bakeries, serving the most elite clientele.

It was absolutely wonderful. Cauthrien had seen a side of Josephine that had only been hinted at before, in their stolen kisses and overlong embraces, a Josephine who was passionate, wild, on fire.

But now it was morning, and she must leave. Cauthrien had to be up to see to the troops and their training. Which version of Josephine would she return to? The reserved diplomat? Or the playful wild thing?

She sighed quietly. It didn't matter. She must get up. She must see to her duty. Her personal life would come second.

It had always come second.

Cauthrien rolled off the bed as quietly as possible, groping around for her clothes. She wasn't quite sure where they were. She found Josephine's slip and dress, and her own stockings, but then ran out of floor to search.

"If you are looking for your shirt, I am afraid I was a bit… enthusiastic last night. They are on the bureau." Cauthrien looked up to find Josephine sitting up on the bed, blanket pooled in her lap and hair flowing over her shoulders to splay across her breasts. The sight sent Cauthrien's heart dropping into her stomach. Abandoning her search, the knight launched herself at the bed, wrapping Josephine in her arms and kissing her fiercely.

The ambassador laughed as they parted. "Good morning to you, too!"

"Sorry," Cauthrien said, sheepish. "You just looked so… irresistible."

"So you couldn't resist? I suppose I can forgive it." Josephine's eyes danced in the half-light coming around the curtains. "But unfortunately, you will have to resist temptation going forward if either of us is to be at our posts on time."

Relieved that it would not be awkward between them, that she was faced with the playful part of Josephine, Cauthrien released the ambassador, sitting back. "You are at your desk this early?"

Josephine nodded, slipping out of bed and reaching down for her slip. Cauthrien could not help admiring the view of the woman's voluptuous backside as she bent over to retrieve her clothing. "Revka is with child and exhausted most of the time. She has only just experienced a single morning without nausea. I try to get working early and let her sleep in some once Cullen is out of their cabin."

"That is kind of you." Cauthrien regained her feet, smirking as she pulled her tunic and trousers from Josephine's writing table.

"I can only hope someone will be as kind should I ever find myself in a similar predicament," Josephine said, pulling the slip over her head. "Women must look out for each other. It is rare a man would even _think_ to do the same, though there are those who would, of course."

The knight smiled, now clad in tunic and trousers. "You don't need to explain your kindness, Josephine. I am allowed to admire you and the traits in you I find appealing, am I not?"

Josephine turned around, her cheeks noticeably darker in a flush. "I… well, thank you, Aisling." She came closer, reaching up to caress the knight's cheek. "I find your opinion of me coming to mean more and more by the day."

Cauthrien turned, kissing the ambassador's palm. "Likewise," she said, giving Josephine a quick peck on the cheek before ripping herself from the woman's side. "But I must be away if I am to be presentable for the day."

"Let me help you with your hair," Josephine offered, finding the leather thong she had removed from the knight's hair the previous evening.

Cauthrien acquiesced, secretly delighted to have her lover running her fingers through her hair. She settled in, closing her eyes and letting Josephine's scent wash over her as the ambassador took up a brush and brought it to Cauthrien's hair.

This was definitely not how she thought she'd be spending this morning, but she could not be more pleased with this abrupt change from business as usual.

* * *

Solona awoke to lips pressed to her forehead. She hummed her pleasure, knowing Leliana would not hear it, but that she would feel the vibrations, as their bodies were pressed together. Angling her face up, she pushed forward just far enough to catch those lips in a kiss.

"Good morning," Leliana murmured, blue eyes crinkled as she smiled down into the mage's face.

Solona was struck dumb for several seconds. She just could hardly believe that she was here, that the hardest parts were behind her, and that her beautiful Leliana was holding her in her arms. The redhead had changed some with the eighteen months they had been apart. Lines that were not there before graced the former bard's features. She was not quite the lean little muscular creature she had been, age and a lack of constant activity filling out her curves. Solona didn't mind one bit on that count; Leliana had always been, and always would be, her curvy little goddess. _More_ curves were just an added bonus.

Leliana's eyes remained unchanged, however, the crystal blue of a forest lake looking back at her in the morning light coming in around the curtains. They had her spellbound, a captivity to which she was more than happy to surrender herself.

"If you keep staring, I'm going to think there's something on my face," Leliana said, rousing Solona from her feast.

She grinned. "Just your pretty eyes, my dear girl."

Leliana giggled. "I am hardly a girl anymore!"

"Perhaps not," Solona conceded, dragging herself up on top of her lover. "But always you shall be my dear, dear Leliana." She paused, loving how easily they could exist like this, naked and inside each other's space. Raising her hands, she began to sign above Leliana's chest, in front of her own lips, as she had for many years now when they lay like this.

_{Thank you.}_

"For what?" Leliana asked, petting Solona's hair.

_{For forgiving me. For hearing me.}_ She smirked, unable to help herself. _{For fucking me.}_

"Solona!" Leliana cried, hitting her shoulder. "Really, you are incorrigible! Not back a day, and already you use such language?!"

Solona snorted._ {No one is here but us two! Besides, I truly am thankful. I have longed to make love to you for months. I expected you to be angry. I thought perhaps you might listen to my reasons the same day I returned. I did not dare hope you would welcome me into your bed for many days yet.}_ She caught Leliana's eyes, dropping her hands to say the rest. "If you would allow me into your bed at all."

It was immediately obvious that Leliana understood her meaning. A hand cupped her cheek, and the Left Hand spoke with disbelief in her voice. "You thought I would reject you?!" Solona could only nod, fighting back tears as she hung her head. Leliana gathered her up, holding the mage's face to her bosom in a warm embrace. "How dare you believe I would ever leave you, Solona Amell," she said, her warm breath ghosting over the former warden's ear. "I love you. Time and distance does not change that. I was angry. I was so afraid I had lost you for _good_. I was afraid I would be left alone forever. I so desperately wished you to be at my side, and I at yours. When you returned to me… rejecting you, sending you on your way, was the furthest thing from my mind, my love."

_Dammit. I don't want to cry again. I'm tired of crying._

Thankfully she was saved when a knock sounded upon the door.

"Who the devil?"

"What's wrong, Solona?"

Solona pushed herself up, signing as she sat fully. _{Someone at the door.}_

She got to her feet, walking across the room. Peeking through the curtain, she saw it was Cassandra, holding a tray of bread and milk.

"What the devil?" she repeated, turning to look at Leliana, now sitting on the bed, covers pulled up to cover her breasts. "It's Cassandra."

"Cassandra? What does she want? Put something on and answer it!"

Solona snorted, shaking her head. "_So_ not putting clothing on for her."

She turned before Leliana could protest and opened the door.

"Yes?"

Cassandra stood blinking a moment, staring right at Solona's breasts before her eyes snapped up to take in Solona's grin.

Her eyes narrowed, her lips flattened into a thin line, and she pushed past Solona. "I see Revka made the right decision in asking _me_ to bring you breakfast."

Solona followed the Seeker into the cabin. "I suppose she wouldn't wish to catch us _rutting_, would she?"

"Neither would _I_," Cassandra ground out, setting the tray down before holding Solona's shirt out to her pointedly. "One time was more than enough."

Solona accepted the garment with a chuckle. She remembered well when Cassandra walked in on the two of them. In Solona's opinion, it served her right for thinking that sunrise was an appropriate time to walk into their bedchambers without waiting for an answer to her knock. No matter that it was for an emergency meeting with the Divine – she stormed in after only a moment's pause after her knock, and got an eye-full.

She pulled her shirt on as Cassandra turned to give them some semblance of privacy. Leliana, too, got out of bed, finding hose and tunic and pulling them on. Her vestments and cowl she left off for now.

"All right, Seeker, we're dressed. Now, what is so important you must _interrupt_?"

Cassandra's eyes traveled to Leliana. Neither of them said anything, but it seemed to Solona they had some kind of silent conversation. "We must debrief the Herald, and you, as well, Solona," the Seeker said, keeping her lips visible for Leliana's sake. It must have been second nature to Cassandra by now, as Leliana had been deaf nearly the entire time they had known each other.

Leliana nodded. "Yes. I cannot hide from my duties forever."

"It is understandable," Cassandra said, eyes sympathetic. "You were parted more than a year. We gave you as long as we could…"

Leliana put her hand on Cassandra's shoulder. "I understand, Cassandra. I did not mean it as a rebuke to _you_. I appreciate the time given us." Leliana's eyes traveled to Solona's. "It was not wasted."

"Yes, I can see that you have reconciled beautifully," Cassandra said, giving them both a rueful smile.

Solona threw back her head and laughed. Dammit if the Seeker's jokes weren't exponentially funnier because of her normally solemn nature.

Cassandra left them after letting them know there was a meeting scheduled in twenty minutes. Solona sat at the small table, tearing a hunk of bread from the loaf and tearing into it.

"It is good to see some things don't change," Leliana said, seating herself and tearing off her own, smaller hunk of bread.

_{What do you mean?}_ Solona signed, her mouth now too full to speak in a way Leliana would understand.

Leliana took a sip of the warm milk before replying with a wink. "Your table manners are still _atrocious_, my love." Solona snorted, shaking her head before taking another pointed bite of her bread.

Suddenly a scratching sounded at the door. Max, who had taken up residence at her feet, and Bella both raised their heads, alerting Leliana to the noise, as well.

"Who is it now?" Solona wondered aloud. She got up, opening the door to see no one there. A black-and-white streak shot past her feet, however, and when she turned, she saw a half-grown cat jumping into Leliana's lap.

"Filou!" the spymaster exclaimed, gathering the thing up and hugging it to her. It meowed and purred, audible all the way across the room. "I'm so sorry! I left you outside all night!"

Solona shut the door, grinning. As Leliana wasn't looking at her, she couldn't tease her, but still she grinned at the sight. It was just so adorable. Leliana, the scary bard, Left Hand of the Divine and spymaster to the Inquisition, petting and wrapping a kitten in her shirt. When did she add a cat to her menagerie?

She returned to the table. Leliana finally glanced up. "And who is this?"

Leliana smiled, scratching the kitten behind its ear. "This handsome gentleman is Filou. Max found him in the snow, half-frozen and without his mother. He has been my companion ever since."

Solona reached forward to give the cat a scratch. The cat hissed, yeowled, and lashed out with both front claws.

"Ow! Why you little…" Solona sucked her bleeding fingers into her mouth, turning her eyes on Leliana. The former bard grinned. "It isn't funny!" Solona insisted.

"Ah, but look at him, Solona," she said, indicating that he was now snuggled into her lap, though he kept a wary eye on Solona. "He's protecting me!"

Solona frowned. "Just keep him away when we're naked together, all right? I don't fancy him deciding I'm hurting you while we're in the middle of things."

Leliana giggled. "All right, my love. He can stay with Josie those nights."

"So _all_ nights."

"We'll figure it out, my love."


	36. Debriefing

_A/N: So here's the last of what I wrote a couple weeks ago. I wrote so much so fast that poor Raven Sinead has had a terrible time keeping up with me. She got two chapters to me, and then two more a week later, after being sick and some other stuff. So I just want to say that she's a goddess and you should all be reading her fic, Sick World That Damns Its Saviors. That is all._

_And now, we go back from our tangent of Solona/Leliana and Josie/Cauthrien and pick back up with Zanneth and Cassandra!_

* * *

Zanneth watched for the others to enter the makeshift war room. She wondered what the room had been before. She was unfamiliar with Chantries in general. What rooms did they normally bear? And didn't this building have some other past? She remembered someone mentioning that those who had been found here during the Blight were disturbed in some way.

Cassandra was already inside with her, studying the map of Orlais and Ferelden laid out over the giant table. It had markers spread all over it, denoting what, Zanneth couldn't say.

Zanneth studied the Seeker a moment. It wasn't so painful. It wasn't so difficult to see her face and see it healthy, vibrant, and not gaunt and angular. Telling all about what she had seen seemed to have taken the power away from the images. She was nearly as comfortable with Cassandra as she had been before. The only discomfort was a vague stuttering of her heart when the Seeker looked at her, and it was not necessarily an unpleasant sensation. Those light brown eyes… the memory of looking into them while love was confessed… the power had not left _that_ memory at _all_.

Just entering the room were Josephine, Ser Cauthrien, Leliana, and Solona. All four women seemed much more relaxed than Zanneth had ever seen them. Leliana even _smiled_. Cassandra had mentioned that the spymaster's and Solona's reunion had gone well. The elf had had no idea what the Seeker's hidden meaning had been, but clearly the warrior was right, given the relaxed, smiling women in front of her.

_When did the idea of being surrounded by so many _shem_ stop making me uncomfortable?_

"Ah, good." Cassandra was looking up from the table now. "Now all we need is Revka."

"She's vomiting outside," Solona said, eyes flicking to Zanneth. "Poor girl is _still_ experiencing some morning nausea."

Zanneth's heart panged. She had seen Revka the day before, had watched Solona and her sister smile and revel in the younger woman's pregnancy. It had sent all the haunting emotions back to the elf from the night of her miscarriage. She had wondered what her own belly would look like by now. She had wondered what it would feel like, to be pregnant. She had wondered if all the things she had been through since – closing rifts, slaying a dragon, traveling through _time_ – would have meant death for her child. Perhaps she was doomed to miscarry, no matter when it happened? If not from Threnn's beating, then from being thrown from the back of a dragon, or from traveling through time, or simply being hit by a demon?

They were unpleasant thoughts, and through all of it she could not help but to be relieved. Familiar feelings of being a monster resurfaced. She had looked to Cassandra, for whom her affection was becoming easier and more comfortable, and wondered what the Seeker truly felt about the elf that night, while she held Zanneth, while Zanneth cried, while she hurt, and while she spoke of herself so poisonously. They were uncomfortable thoughts. She had not wished to be suddenly steeped in these feelings. Cassandra's opinion of her especially had made Zanneth despair, despite her proof that the Seeker had obviously looked past it. She would not have declared her love in that dark future were she not able to look past Zanneth's darkness the night she miscarried.

Zanneth had asked to spar, despite having just come in off the road. It had worked. It took her mind off her thoughts, and she circled and lunged and parried with the far more skilled Seeker until she was too exhausted to care. Then she avoided Revka for the rest of the night.

Now, though, she was to be faced with the pregnant ambassador, feelings or no. She would simply have to manage. There was nothing for it. Revka was pregnant, and Zanneth was not. It was just how things were, and nothing she could do would change it.

"That is regrettable. Is there nothing you can do for it?" Cassandra asked now.

Solona shook her head. "Some people just puke a lot. There's plenty of folk tales regarding what this might mean, whether it's a boy or a girl, what temperament the child might have, but in my experience, it means nothing other than her body is being a cunt to her. It should settle soon. It always does when a woman starts to show."

"I see."

There was a pause before Solona turned to Zanneth. "What are you doing for your sick and injured?"

Zanneth blinked a moment, looking to Cassandra. "I… am unsure. When I have been injured, Solas has taken care of me. But he did not return with us."

"Are you not in charge of this operation?" Solona asked, brows knit. Her eyes flicked up to Cassandra, then Leliana. Her hands came up as she spoke, and she gestured in such a way that the elf suspected it must have some meaning. "You are leaderless?"

Zanneth could almost see Cassandra's hackles rise. "If you had not been away, we might have asked _you_ to lead the Inquisition."

Solona let out a laugh. "I would not lead this operation were it outfitted with all the gold and naked women in the world! This is not my Inquisition, Cassandra. And stop lamenting that I was gone. I have had enough of it. I was on a mission from the Divine."

"Yes. Your mission," Cassandra sneered. "The one you have yet to tell us of. The one that got you captured. And the one that the Divine can no longer corroborate. Perhaps you had no mission? Perhaps you merely tired of Val Royeaux, of Leliana, of having any responsibility-"

"Enough!"

Everyone in the room turned blinking to Leliana, who had shouted them silent. The Left Hand stood now with a frown. "Cassandra, Solona has told me all there is to tell, and I believe her. She plans to share here, as well. Where does this venom come from?"

"Where is her sense of duty?" Cassandra's eyes fell on Solona once more. "You would not lead us if we had asked, if it was needed of you? You come in here and immediately ridicule how we run things? And where were you while the world went to shit? You are better than that, Solona! You are better than the playful façade you present the world! You are better than being captured by a puling Tevinter _apprentice_!"

Solona looked like she might strike Cassandra for her words, but a gloved hand snaking up to the mage's shoulder seemed to be enough to stay her hand.

"What are you truly angry about, Seeker?" Zanneth did not miss that Solona's question mirrored Leliana's.

"You could have saved the Divine! Everything could have turned out differently!"

"And you _blame_ me for this?"

"I…" Cassandra deflated, scrubbing a hand over her face. "No. No, not truly."

"Right. I must have missed something truly spectacular," Revka said from the doorway. "What did I just walk in on?"

Zanneth's heart kicked at sight of her pregnant belly. She tore her eyes away.

"A pissing contest," Leliana said, moving from Solona's side to greet the arcane warrior's sister. "And _I_ won."

That got a chuckle from everyone.

Solona turned to Zanneth. "I apologize, Your Worship. Cassandra and I clearly have some talking to do now that I am no longer recovering from my captivity." She paused, looking around. Her eyes landed on Josephine, then Cauthrien, where they narrowed. "Hello Lady Montilyet, Ser Cauthrien. I hear you," she addressed the knight, "are now second-in-command of the Inquisition's martial forces."

The knight nodded. "Aye, I am."

"Congratulations. It seems we are fated to work together no matter how far away from Denerim I get."

Cauthrien looked uncomfortable. Zanneth could not begin to guess why. But it was clear, even to her, that Solona did not much like the knight from Denerim.

"Enough." Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose. "I apologize for my outburst. Solona, we lead by council, as we are now. The Herald is not to blame for anything we may lack." She dropped her hand, fixing the arcane warrior with a glare. "Is your proximity to Ser Cauthrien going to be a problem?"

Solona shook her head, turning to look at the knight. "No, I suppose if you and Leliana can be friendly, then I can set my own feelings aside."

Zanneth was confused. Cauthrien did something to Solona? Or Leliana? _I am in a room of people with so much history…_

"I am willing to do all I can to show you I am no longer loyal to Loghain, Lady Amell," Cauthrien offered.

Solona snorted. "Stuff the 'Lady Amell,' and we can work together, Cauthrien."

The knight smirked. "Aye, I can do that."

Cassandra groaned. "Can we get on with this please?"

"Yes, yes. All right. You wish to know what my mission was, yes?" Solona strode forward to the table. "You will not like it, Cassandra."

"I would know what it was. Whether I approve matters not, as you have already completed it."

Solona nodded. "All right. The night Lord Seeker Lucius left the Chantry, the Divine ordered me to her council chamber…"

* * *

Cassandra remained silent through Solona's explanation and into Zanneth's of her experience in Redcliffe. If she spoke, she would explode. The Divine had kept this secret? She almost couldn't believe it. Justinia had ordered the destruction of all the _phylacteries_? What would they do when mages ran? When they became abominations and stormed through the countryside, causing all manner of damage? How could she order something like this?

_The Divine loved all the members of her flock_, Cassandra tried to reason with herself. _You believed Solona and Leliana's tale from the Gauntlet. So did Justinia. So why does this anger you so?_

_Mages must have oversight! The risk is too high!_

_But you do agree that mages deserve a greater degree of freedom than most Circles awarded them. The freedom Justinia allowed in Orlais was more to your taste, anyway._

_And look what they did with that freedom. They cried victim and held a vote for rebellion!_

_And Justinia allowed it. Are you wiser than she? Solona says she wished to save lives while peace was achieved. And you know she was right. Your brothers and sisters in the Seeker Order would have sought out those phylacteries, and hunted down every senior mage in Thedas. They do not deserve that. They voted for independence. Only tyrants slaughter rebels._

"I wish to look into the matter of this dark future you speak of." Leliana's voice broke through Cassandra's thoughts, and she realized that Zanneth had finished telling her tale. "The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?"

"Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do. If Orlais falls, Tevinter rises." Solona smirked. "Chaos all around!"

"One battle at a time," Cassandra finally said, pushing her internal argument aside. She could do nothing for it now. The phylacteries were destroyed, and whether or not the Seeker agreed with it, it had accomplished the Divine's wish – to save the lives of the mages. Mages who were currently headed to Haven to help close the Breach. She did not miss that if those mages had been hunted down, they would not now have the power they needed. "We must first close the Breach. It will take time to organize everyone when they arrive, but I would have those who are already here as ready as we can make them. I will leave the troops to you, Ser Cauthrien."

"Yes, ma'am," the knight answered, inclining her head.

"And arrange a meeting this evening for those former templars among their number," Cassandra said, knitting her brows. "I have information for all of you regarding how we will manage any mages who succumb to demons."

"Aye, ma'am."

"I will oversee the readiness of our noncombatants," Josephine said. "And we should look into securing an independent source of lyrium for our mages – _and_ for those templars who count among our number." Cassandra did not miss how Josephine's eyes caught Revka's, nor the slight frown on the younger Amell sister's face.

_Cullen. He must be in agony. He hides it well, but I have seen the redness around his eyes. He does not go without suffering. He merely buries himself in work._ She took in Revka's slight belly, visible despite her dress. _And his wife_.

Even the thought made Cassandra's face feel hot. She could not help her eyes traveling to Zanneth's silhouette. _What would it feel like to be buried in a woman?_ Cassandra's face flushed further. She ripped her eyes away, looking to Josephine.

"That is a good idea. But have we any idea how to do so in a timely manner?"

"I actually know someone," Solona mused. "A lyrium smuggler in Denerim."

"Why am I not surprised?" Cassandra said, shaking her head as she leaned upon the war table.

"I have friends far and wide, what can I say?" The mage brought her hands up to sign, so that Leliana might know what was said. "Natia Brosca, one of our companions during the Blight. She settled in Denerim, but she has a rather… unorthodox family to help support. With her Carta connections, it was easy enough for her to get into the business of black market lyrium smuggling. It will raise the ire of the Chantry, though…"

"We are all of us heretics in the eyes of the Chantry's leadership," Cassandra said, waving away Solona's concern. "Pitiful as that 'leadership' is. They wait for a new Divine. We do what must be done. Write your friend. An exclusive deal would be ideal. But do not let them charge us exorbitant prices, or we will find another source." She stopped, looking around. "Assuming we are all agreed?"

Assent was murmured all around.

"All right. If no one has anything else to discuss, then this meeting is adjourned. Ready yourselves and your people: we close the Breach as soon as is possible, after the rebel mages arrive."

Josephine, Leliana, Solona, and Revka all left together, chatting animatedly. Cauthrien followed more sedately, part of the group but also not. Her history with them was far more complicated. As Cassandra watched, Josephine hung back just slightly, reaching a hand out. Cauthrien took it.

_They bedded each other last night. Possibly for the first time._ The realization made the Seeker look immediately to Zanneth, who had stayed in the room with her. _How is it I know this? When did I start watching my companions so closely?_

The elf's eyes were glued to the map. "Where is Ostwick?" she asked out of nowhere.

Cassandra furrowed her brows, but pointed the city-state out on the map. "Why do you wish to know?"

Zanneth studied the map, her eyes flickering often between Ostwick and Haven. "It is closest to where I left my clan. They will be wintering there. I was due back by now."

Cassandra's heart sank into her stomach. "We never saw about getting a message to your Keeper…"

The elf shook her head. "A lot has happened. And beside that, I do not know how to write."

"How is it that your grandmother knows how to read, but you do not? Wouldn't she have taught you?"

Zanneth shook her head again. "I was not her First. Why teach a mere hunter to read the scrolls, or the missives sent between keepers? I was not slated to lead the clan, and never would, as I have no magic."

Cassandra supposed it made sense. What use for reading and writing would Zanneth have, out in the forest, hunting? "Perhaps we can tell her you are alive, at the very least?"

"What kind of message could be sent that would not seem as though I was your captive?" Dark brown eyes turned to her, but it was not an accusation. Zanneth truly did not know how a message could work.

Cassandra thought for a moment. It was a fair question. Zanneth's clan seemed friendlier toward humans than most, but it would be an understandable mistake to think Zanneth was some sort of captive of the Inquisition. The elf had been free to go, though they truly did _need_ her to accomplish their goal. Nobody else could. It might indeed look like she was coerced to an outside eye.

_Did we coerce her? We did not really give her the option of not helping; did not offer to get her home._

"Do you wish to go back to them, Zanneth? You still have family that is missing you."

Zanneth shook her head decisively. "I do not have a place among them. Not anymore. I would go back to hunting and caring not for your world." She held Cassandra's eyes for a moment. "I find I have a place here. If I returned there, I would be a widow. Pitied. Nobody pities me here. I have friends. Nobody sees my reticent nature and decides I need not be approached. If I returned… I think I would be desperately lonely."

There seemed to be something else the elf left unsaid, but Cassandra did not know what it might be. "Well," the Seeker said after a moment, "what if I wrote your words for you, and taught you to sign your name? Then your grandmother might have some degree of certainty that it actually comes from you. And even if she doesn't… I imagine it will be good for her to know you live."

Twenty minutes later, they sat together in Cassandra's cabin, where the Seeker had writing implements.

"I do not know how to write a letter," Zanneth confessed, pacing the room. "How do they normally start?"

Cassandra smiled, finding the elf's uncertainty, quite frankly, adorable. "You address the recipient. In this case, 'Dear Grandmother' should suffice… unless you regularly call her something else?"

Zanneth shook her head, continuing to pace.

"All right. 'Dear Grandmother,' it is. What would you like to tell her?"

The elf stopped, turning panic-stricken eyes upon the Seeker. "There is so much to say. I am alive, and serving the humans' Inquisition. Hyune and Sinna… and Relarian, her First. I do not…" Her eyes begged for help.

Cassandra held up a hand. "Let us start at the beginning, with the good news. Despite the explosion, you are alive and well. A good place to start, yes?"

Zanneth nodded vigorously. They continued on like this, Cassandra trying desperately to stay professional and detached as she listened to Zanneth speak to her grandmother through the Seeker's pen. It was so heart-warming to see the elf open up and begin to speak as she might to family. And it made Cassandra feel like a voyeur. But she had offered to write this, and if she didn't, no one else could. It spoke volumes that Zanneth could open up like this in front of Cassandra.

_She likes you_, Leliana's voice sounded in her head.

Cassandra didn't deign to respond to it, merely writing the last few words of the letter.

"There," she said, placing her pen upon the table and blowing air over the ink that had not yet dried. "My penmanship was never the talk of my tutors, but it is legible, and one of the better things I have written. Shall I read it to you?"

Again, the elf nodded, taking a seat on the edge of Cassandra's bed. Ignoring her inner – and inappropriate – voice, which told her to tackle the elf onto her back and have her way with her, the Seeker cleared her throat and began to read.

"_Dear Grandmother,_

_It is your granddauther, Zanneth. I do not know what you have heard of the Conclave you sent me to observe, but something went terribly wrong. There is a tear through the Veil into the Beyond, the result of a massive explosion that killed many._

_The good news is that I lived, though I do not know how. I have no memories of the explosion. The people in the village thought I was at fault at first, but I was quickly pardoned. I agreed to help them close the Breach, as the tear has come to be called. For, as the sole survivor, I bear a mark, some unknown magic that closes the rifts into the Beyond._

_I regret to tell you that Hyune, Sinna, and Relarian did not survive. I am sorry, Grandmother. You have lost so much._

_Despite this heartbreak, I do well. I have made friends. There are so many different kinds of people here. Among those I spend time with are other elves, dwarves, humans, and even a giant qunari warrior. The world is much bigger than I ever imagined. I have a place here. I never thought I would have a place outside the People._

_I __**do**__ miss the clan, however. I hope everyone does well, that the halla are healthy, and that the hunt is bountiful. Send your reply with the falcon that delivered this; it will know the way back to me._

_With love,"_

"This is where you will sign," Cassandra said at the end, showing Zanneth, who had wandered to her side. "I am unfamiliar with your name, but I can certainly spell it phonetically and teach it to you."

"Phonetically?" The elf looked perplexed.

Cassandra chuckled. "Of course you would not know that word. It has to do with spelling. It means that it looks how it sounds. I… cannot explain until you can read. But suffice it to say, your grandmother will at least know how to pronounce what I write, even if she spells your name differently."

Zanneth shrugged. "All right. I trust you know what you are doing. I certainly do not."

"Come, take this," Cassandra said, handing the quill to Zanneth. She then took the elf's hand, dipped the quill in the inkwell, and let the ink blot a spare piece of parchment. "You see? How hard you press and how long you leave it will determine how much ink is used." She then pointed to where she had written her interpretation of 'Zanneth.' "These are the letters you will mimic. Practice it here a few times, and then you can sign your letter. We will start the process of actually _teaching_ you to read later."

Zanneth nodded. Cassandra's heart fluttered as she watched the elf's brow furrow with concentration, painstakingly copying the letters of her name.

_It is hopeless_, she thought to herself. _I am much too far gone to ever be rid of these feelings. This little elf has utterly stolen my heart. I must tell her soon. There is no need to torture myself so_.

"How is this?"

Cassandra blinked herself from her thoughts, looking upon Zanneth's work. It looked like a child's handwriting, but it _was_ legible. "That is good," she said, smiling at Zanneth's pleased expression. "Practice a few more times, and then we can take this letter to Leliana to send for you."

Nodding, Zanneth got to work.


	37. The Inquisition Grows

_A/N: Some time, I should post a chapter with mine and Raven Sinead's comments on it. The amount of snickering and innuendos and general revelry we exchange on the things we write is just silly._

* * *

It was a gloomy day, but Revka's disposition was as sunny as the clearest morning as she walked across the courtyard. Haven was turning into a healthy little village. Every old house, left from when the place was discovered by Solona and her companions during the Blight, had been taken over by as many families as could comfortably fit in them – whole families slept in one room, but at least they had a roof over their heads, and walls to keep out the cold. Large, barracks-style buildings had been built to house soldiers and anyone else who did not have a family with them. Outside the main walls, out with the forge and the stables, one giant hall was in the final process of being erected to house the Iron Bull's Chargers.

Pilgrims arrived by the day. Many pledged to serve the Inquisition in some way, but even those who did not were sheltered and fed, often pledging to serve once they saw that the organization took serious its promise to feed and shelter the poor and needy. Revka and Josephine were kept busy raising funds for the Inquisition, but as they gained members, they also gained notoriety, which in turn raised the curiosity of the nobility of all the major countries in Thedas. They pledged their loyalty at this point because their allies did, or to spite their rivals. Revka and Josephine _both_ did what they could to enhance this theater of the Game. It was distasteful, but it got them what they needed. They would both do much to feed the hungry mouths coming to them daily, to outfit their soldiers, to keep everyone warm, faithful or not.

Now, though, she took a break from work to seek out her sister. The cook had made something special, at Revka's request, and she hoped to share it with Solona.

She found the mage by the stables, kneeling next to a small child.

"Just be careful from now on, and if you hurt yourself again, don't hide it. The quicker we heal something, the less time you'll hurt."

The boy nodded, his eyes big, and then he turned and ran to his grateful mother. "Thank you so much, Ser mage," the elven woman said, petting the hair of her son. His ears poked out through his hair in a way that Revka found adorable.

Solona waved her off. "Please, call me Solona. And it is no trouble. Just try to keep him from climbing the _tallest_ of the trees, yes?"

The woman nodded, then her eyes snapped to Revka and she took her leave. Solona turned as her sister approached.

"Ah! Revka!" She strode forward, engulfing the diplomat in an embrace. Then she pulled back, looking down on her sister. "A rather dramatic change in wardrobe for you."

Revka felt her cheeks heat as Solona released her. She wore white hose and a red tunic cinched with a wide belt, showing off her already-visible belly. Her feet were clad in knee-high, brown leather boots, laced up the sides in the current fashion. Her hair was down, the strands at her temples gathered and tied back in her customary style, practical and yet elegant in its simplicity.

"What do you think?" She turned so Solona might catch sight of all of her. "Cullen suggested it before he left, and it made sense. It will be easier as I grow larger to simply don a larger tunic than to either make more dresses or let out the ones I have. And when it is time to feed the child, a shirt will be simpler and more readily moved aside than the bodice of my dresses. But it is… strange. They are the first hose I have worn."

Solona's eyes turned down at mention of the former templar's name, but she said nothing about him. "I think they suit you, and you wear them well. Though… aren't you freezing?"

Revka smirked. "I could ask you the same, Sister." Both of them were out in the snow without cloaks. She and Solona were alike in that they were constantly warmer than others around them, clearly a family trait. Add to that her pregnancy, and, well… she only wore a cloak if she was outside for more than half an hour at a time.

"Fair enough!" Solona said with a chuckle.

"I had the cook make us something I think you'll like." She held out the box she carried, lifting the lid to show the confection within. Solona's eyes grew wide with delight. "Care to join me?"

Five minutes later they sat at the small table in Revka's cabin. Solona delighted in the treat, but Revka did not miss how her sister's eyes traveled to all the signs that Cullen also inhabited this cabin when he was in Haven.

"Solona, you are not so sneaky as all that. Tell me what you're thinking?"

Her sister sighed, putting down the pastry before speaking. "Did it have to be _Cullen_?"

Revka giggled. Her face took on what she knew was a dopey smile as she thought of her husband, standing tall and strong, looking at her from across the marshaling yard with a smile he reserved only for her. "Yes," she said simply. "It had to be him. It's _him_."

Solona frowned, her eyes traveling to Revka's belly. "So this wasn't some kind of marriage of convenience? You wanted him? It wasn't some…_liaison_ with unintended consequences?"

"Are you suggesting I didn't want his attentions?" Revka frowned, a mirror of her sister's. "That he somehow coerced me? I pursued _him_, Solona. I admit I did not plan to become pregnant, but I already knew I loved him before I knew I would be bearing a child."

"But did he tell you all there was to tell?" Solona got up, pacing the small amount of space in the middle of the cabin. "Did you know he was at the Circle with me?"

"Not at first." Revka was feeling defensive. "Leliana mentioned something, so I asked him and he told all."

"All? He told you of his unrequited love for _me_?" Solona turned, her expression one of inner torture. "Did he…"

"Out with it, Solona." Revka did not have time for this.

Solona sighed, half-turning so as not to meet her sister's eyes. "He was the one who greeted me when Mother and Father sent me back to the Circle, Revka. He held me down as they cut my scalp with their razors. He avoided my gaze for _hours_ while they _branded my face_, Sister." As she spoke, her volume increased, her fervor with it. "He nearly went mad during the Blight, screaming for the death of all mages in the Circle! I know it has been ten years since that time, but… for fuck's sake, Revka, did it have to be _that man_?!"

Revka didn't know what to feel. Cullen had not shared those details with her. She knew he had been captured during the Blight, and that it had scarred him deeply. But she also knew he had recovered. And what Solona spoke of between them happened _before_ the Blight. It had been a very long time, and he had been incredibly young then. Revka stumbled upon the answer as she opened her mouth to speak.

"We know different men, Solona," she said. "He did not share all details with me, but must we suffer and relive the sins of our pasts time and again? He was a man of twenty-two then. You were even younger. It's been ten years, as you say. The man I married is _kind_, and _good_, and he is so excited to be a father. He no longer takes the lyrium. He lost his arm to protect the mages of the Kirkwall Circle from his commander's wrath. He has not once brought up the possibility that I have magic in my blood, even though there is a chance our child will be born with it." She got up, walking to her sister's side. "He is a _different man_, Solona. And besides." She reached out, taking hold of Solona's arm. "This marriage has very little do with all that. It happened a long time ago. Should we all be held to the mistakes we make in our youth?"

Solona, so good at getting riled up with righteous anger, sagged at that final sentence. "I know. Fuck, I'm sorry. I just… the world has changed so _much_ in my absence. How am I to pick up the pieces?"

"Wait for his return, and _talk_ to him. I'm willing to be there. I'm sure Leliana is, as well. You can't keep holding onto this, Solona. It's not even for someone who exists anymore."

Solona merely nodded, looking sad, but resigned. Suddenly, her lips quirked up. It was so _Solona_ to move on from her anger and into a grin. "When did you develop so much wisdom?"

Revka winked. "Mothers know."

A snort. "Know what?"

"They just _know_. You wouldn't understand."

Another snort. "Right. I'll remember that when I'm your midwife and you don't _know_."

They giggled together at that, their argument resolved, at least for the time being. It wasn't that Revka didn't understand Solona's concerns, but she _did_ think they were unfounded. She was sure that, once the two had a chance to talk – _supervised_, for Solona could be a self-righteous arse at times – they would come to some sort of understanding.

* * *

Cassandra stood, still as a statue, watching as the Inquisition's newest members walked the last part of their trek to Haven. A trip that would take a normal, healthy person two weeks on foot had taken this group three, and Cassandra counted that fast travel. The mages numbered children among them, mothers, fathers, the old and the young. They brought every earthly possession with them: paper and quill, books and hand-made blankets and clothing, stores of herbs and potions. They had literally nowhere else to go. Everything they owned had to leave Redcliffe with them. Moving one's entire existence took _time_.

The Seeker was unsure what to feel. She had spent a good deal of her life hating all mages for what a few misguided, power-hungry souls had done to her brother. Then she had fallen in love with a mage as a young woman. Regalyan had shown her what it truly meant to bear the gift of magic in a way not even her superiors could have. He had won his way inside her heart, warmed it, calmed the battle-lust in her blood, cooled the raging inferno of her anger. He had shown her how beautiful magic could be, what good it could do when not turned toward the aims of those who selfishly sought power.

That they had decided to part ways mattered not. He had opened her eyes. She had still thought oversight was necessary, for the risk of those who _were_ power-mad turning to demons and blood magic was still quite strong, but when Divine Justinia had taken the Sunburst Throne and begun to enact changes within the Chantry and the Circle of Orlais, Cassandra had been pleased. Oversight did not mean prisons. Mages ought to be allowed opportunities to grow, to learn, to control their powers and harness them for the betterment of mankind.

And they ought to be allowed to _love_.

That was what was sung in the Chant, no? "Magic is meant to serve Man, and not rule over him." Andraste said so.

_How did we get it so completely wrong?_

Thoughts of Ragalyan brought a tickle behind her eyes. It was difficult to believe that he was dead. It was even more difficult to remember because he had been out of her life for several years before the Conclave. She had constantly to remind herself that he and his new lover were gone from this world forever, right along with the Divine and all others who attended the Conclave.

All except Zanneth.

Cassandra eyed the elf standing at her side. Funny how she lost an old lover and gained a new that awful day.

_She is not my lover. Why do I think of her as such?_

_Because you love her_, Leliana's voice answered in her head. _Whether or not she feels the same, whether or not you ever do anything but love her from afar. Yes, she is not your lover – yet – but it is still, in a way, an appropriate way to think of her_.

Cassandra sighed. These thoughts were cumbersome. She preferred action. So why could she not muster the courage to say something to Zanneth and be done with it? Know one way or the other?

_It is not that I cower. It is that I have not had the right moment._

She knew it was a lie. Opportunities had abounded. They may not have felt just perfect, but anytime that they were alone and not discussing Inquisition business would have sufficed. Was she a coward?

_You are not a coward, Cassandra. You are a romantic. You wait for the perfect moment. You want it to be special, if indeed she can love you back. What is more romantic than that?_

She sighed again. Yes, it was true. She wanted it to be just right. But she should also do it soon. The right moment might never come on its own. She might have to _make_ a moment "right."

"So much sighing," Zanneth said, pulling Cassandra out of her reverie. The Seeker looked up to see the smallest of grins pulling at the elf's red lips. She was struck by how beautiful Zanneth looked in the late afternoon's sunlight. Her hair shone, lit orange by the sun that would soon set. The tattoos upon her face contrasted starkly against her pale skin, and yet Cassandra could see a slight pink flush from the cold upon the elf's cheeks. She so longed to reach out, to touch, to trace those marks, to run her thumb along the lines as they traveled her chin, her shoulders, her arms, over onto her chest…

Cassandra willfully redirected her thoughts, putting a lid on her desire. It would do her no good now.

"I am just thinking on all that has happened," she said instead, tearing her eyes away from Zanneth's face to watch the arriving mages once more.

"A lot has happened," Zanneth agreed, nodding. She wore the same uniform as the scouts of the Inquisition, leather armor and an Inquisition tabard cinched with a leather belt. She had stowed her hunting coat, citing that it had been through much and she did not wish to ruin it. Cassandra was secretly relieved. The elf should be wearing armor. As the Herald, she was a target. Threnn's attack had proven _that_ beyond the shadow of a doubt.

"Despite it all, I am… _glad_ that you are here, that we have become close," Cassandra ventured.

Again, that subtle quirk of the lips, so very red against her pale skin. "As am I."

They stood the rest of the vigil in silence. By the time Cullen and Fiona, leading the group, reached the gates to Haven, Solona, Leliana, Revka, and Josephine had joined them. The women of the Inquisition, standing together, receiving its newest members. It was appropriate, Cassandra thought, that they should all be here, gathered together. Now that Cullen was back, as well, their leadership would be whole again.

_It does not feel quite complete…_

Before Cassandra could muse on this thought further, she was startled by a cry of anger from Leliana.

"You!" The spymaster flung herself from Solona's side, heading straight for a very surprised-looking Dorian. Cassandra instinctively lunged after her, getting hold of Leliana's arm just as she was about to bury a dagger in Dorian's side. She reached around, pulling the former bard's wrists behind her back, causing the dagger to fall to the ground.

"Ah! What is this?!" the Tevinter mage yelled, taking a few steps back as he realized what had almost happened. "What is it with you people wanting me dead?!"

"It was _you_!" Leliana shouted again.

"Leliana, what are you on about?" Cassandra ground out, keeping her grip despite the boot heel that had just landed _hard_ on her ankle. Leliana knew _just_ how to get out of a hold like this. The Seeker would sport a nasty bruise for more than a week from that kick.

Solona appeared at her side, moving in front of Leliana so that the spymaster might see her hands "speaking". "Leliana, stop this! There is an explanation and you cannot hear it if you are busy trying to kill him!"

She stopped struggling, but Cassandra could _see_ the betrayal in Leliana's stance as she looked upon her lover. "But he's the one! He's the one who stole you from me! He's the one who stole you from _all_ of us! Most Holy would be alive to lead us! He-"

"Stop thinking this!" Solona cried, true despair in her expression. "That he took me is proof enough that I am _human_, Leliana! Perhaps I could have changed things, but _perhaps I could have not_!" She paused, looking behind her to Dorian, who cowered near Fiona, then back to Leliana. She continued, though so quietly, only Cassandra could hear her. "Let us move to where we can speak privately. I apologize that I forgot to mention that the man I showed you has joined the Inquisition. With all that has happened… I forgot that I never put that together for you."

Leliana stiffened. "Fine." After a pause, she added, "Cassandra, let me go."

The Seeker complied. The spymaster immediately turned, stalking toward the Chantry. Solona turned knitted brows on Cassandra. "I am sorry for the spectacle."

"_She_ will be more displeased than _I_ on that count," Cassandra answered, indicating Leliana's retreating back.

"Yes," Solona sighed. "I keep mucking this up." Shaking her head, she turned to Fiona and Dorian, stooping to retrieve Leliana's dagger. "Come. Best not to keep the Left Hand of the Divine and spymaster to the Inquisition waiting, yes?"

Dorian looked dubious. "She's not going to try to skewer me again?"

"Best to keep your guard up," Cassandra suggested, unable to help a slight bit of teasing. "Better safe than skewered, yes?"

Dorian looked far from reassured. "Right… maybe I'll sit this one out."

"Dorian," Fiona said, using his name as a slight reprimand. "You made this mess. It is your responsibility to deal with the consequences."

Grumbling, Dorian acquiesced, following Solona up to the Chantry. Fiona, at least, came as well, to give Dorian an ally. Cassandra shook her head. She did not know what to make of that _particular_ mess.

She went to move away, but found that she could not bend her ankle properly. "Dammit."

"What's wrong?"

Cassandra looked up to see Zanneth was still at her side. Now that the spectacle Leliana had made was over, the crowd was dispersing, leaving the two of them relatively alone.

"Leliana is small, but powerful. Her kick caused more damage than I thought." She took an experimental step, and nearly fell. "Damn."

She found her hand taken, and then Zanneth's lithe little body pushed itself up underneath her arm for support. "Come," the elf said, directing her to move with a subtle pressure from the arm around her waist. It sent a thrill up Cassandra's spine, goose flesh spreading over her scalp. "I'll help you."

Heart nearly in her throat at their closeness, Cassandra allowed the Herald of Andraste to help her into the village proper, where Solas agreed to see if anything could be done to ease the damage her complimentary Hand had caused.

* * *

Solona stomped away from the Chantry, Leliana at her side. They had spoken with Dorian and Fiona until Leliana seemed to understand, but they had not yet spoken about it. They needed privacy. They did not have that out here in the courtyard outside the Chantry.

She was still angry about Leliana's outburst. Not because she'd shouted, or because she didn't have a right to be angry with Dorian, nor even because it was public. No, Solona understood those things. Making a public spectacle had never bothered her. She herself was still angry with Dorian. And she had neglected to forewarn Leliana that she would see his face again, and it would be the face of an ally. Solona actually felt terrible about that oversight. She should have remembered, said something to her lover sometime between their reunion and the arrival of the mages. The night of her arrival in Haven would not have been a good night. But it had been nearly three weeks since then. Surely she could have said something _one_ of those nights?

No, what angered Solona was much more subtle than that.

As soon as they were inside Leliana's cabin, her hands began moving, the words flying out of her mouth. "When did you go from telling me to be more careful to thinking I could do _anything_?"

Leliana was taken aback, blinking by the door. She pursed her lips, removed her muddied boots, and then moved fully into the cabin. "What?" she finally said.

Solona made a frustrated sound. "Do you remember when we were in the Brecelian Forest? How you begged me to be more careful? The spirit, as Witherfang, had stunned me, and one of the werewolves almost gutted me."

Leliana's eyes flashed. "Yes, Solona. I remember it. How could I not? You were foolish, and I was powerless, and I have that moment forever stamped upon my mind!"

"Good," Solona said, ignoring that her lover was bristling. The cold trickle of fear that Leliana could inspire in others didn't work on the arcane warrior. "So then why do you believe I could have stopped that _thing_ from appearing in the sky?!" At the last, she gestured through the open curtains, where light from the Breach high above shone through.

"What are you on about, Solona?"

"I admit that I probably could have done something. Things would have gone differently if I had been here." Solona stopped, frowning at Leliana as she continued to speak and sign. "But I also could have perished, right along with the Divine, Leliana."

"Maker, Solona, don't say-"

"What?" the mage interrupted, hard eyes holding her lover's gaze. "That I could have perished? It's true, Leliana. My magic has saved me countless times, but it also has made me a target. And when you shout for all to hear that _I_ could have saved Justinia-"

"But you said it yourself! You could have! Things could have gone differently if you were but _here_! And that man stole you from us!"

"Leliana, please!" Solona ran her hand through her hair in frustration. She could feel her anger boiling up inside of her. Since her captivity, keeping control of her emotions had been more difficult, especially her anger. It seeped in even when she had a joyous moment. She had nightmares. Meditating was more difficult. The only thing that seemed to silence it was attending Chantry services, something she had never regularly done, and her time alone with Leliana.

And now… now the anger bubbled forth in one of those hallowed places where it was normally silenced, where the fire was normally soothed.

"What is this really about, Solona?"

Solona turned pleading eyes on her lover. "I can't… _fix_ everything, Leli. I can try. I can fix many things. But that hole in the Veil… it would have ripped me apart. I need you to stop believing that I am the solution for all the problems that currently plague us. I can help, Leliana. There are many things I _can_ fix. I can bring someone back from the brink of death. I can teach others the art of healing, and the art of the blade. But I cannot solve all the problems of the world. It's… it's too much. It's too big. I can't live up to that. And I can't stand the thought of disappointing you, every time I can't do something you think I can."

She hung her head as she finished, pinching the bridge of her nose and turning away. Words were failing her. She could not quite describe what she wished. She could not find the words to tell Leliana that she was tired, that her anger threatened to overpower her at every moment, that the only moments when she was neither tired nor angry were when she lay in her lover's arms. She could not find the words to explain that her magic could not act as a shield for the world, but rather turned her into a _tool_. She could move through and act in the world, but she could not keep cataclysmic events from happening, could not save every life, could not keep the world from ending.

Words failed her, for her power could not be explained in words, not to those without it. Oh, how wonderful would it be know another like her? Another who knew the feeling of opening herself up to the Fade? Another who knew what it felt like to be so powerful and yet to be so powerless? Sometimes the world was a very lonely place.

Before she could truly disappear into her despair, a warm hand appeared on her shoulder, turning her around. Soft blue eyes gazed up into her own. "You have never disappointed me, Solona," Leliana said. The former bard reached up, gathering Solona into her arms. "You could never disappoint me, my love. Those words were said in anger. I… I know I could have lost you _as well_ as Dorothea. I suppose…"

Solona felt her heave a sigh before continuing. "I suppose not all of my anger has left me just yet. While you were gone, I kept seeing things go badly that I thought would have gone different were you here. But that is not fair, Solona. And I am sorry. I know you are human. I know you do not have all the answers. Or, at least, I know this intellectually. But it is sometimes easy to forget that just because you are so much more powerful than those around you, does not mean you are the most powerful in all the universe. I forget that sometimes, I think. And, when I am angry, and afraid, it's like those emotions overtake every part of me. And they know the answer, to relieve the ache, so I seek it out somewhat ruthlessly."

When Leliana did not continue, Solona finally lifted her head from the smaller woman's shoulder and looked down into her eyes. "And what is that, Leli? What is the answer to the ache of anger and fear?"

"You, my love." Leliana smiled, cupping Solona's cheek. "I am not so afraid when you are near. My anger cools when you are by my side."

Solona immediately pulled Leliana into her arms, holding fiercely to her. For that, too, was the answer for the ache in her own chest: her love.


	38. The Left Hand Does What She Does Best

Leliana awoke with the sun. It had only been a few weeks since Solona's return, and she was still not accustomed to it being _real_. But when she opened her eyes, there was her lover, sleeping soundly, mouth open, a slight rumble in her chest letting Leliana know that she still snored softly when she slept.

_This is real. This happened. She is here._

It was her constant refrain, every morning, since Solona's return. She breathed deeply, taking in Solona's scent. Wrapped in the mage's arms, she did not need to reach out to feel her, but still she pressed subtly with the pads of her fingers, waking the nerves in her hands so she could touch as much of her lover as possible.

It was a morning ritual. Perhaps one day she would not need it, but now, more than ever, more even than when she had initially gone deaf, she needed to reassure herself, to ground herself in the world around her.

She had spoken at length with Dorian and Fiona the day before. Leliana had finally come to see why Solona had accepted Dorian, and not killed him. She could see that he had made a _mistake_; that he had erred and tried so desperately to fix it. She had seen that he was only acting as an agent for the true monster, Alexius. His attitude didn't help, of course, but Leliana could see _right_ through it. _It is difficult to sass a deaf woman_, she had thought to herself, even as the man had continued to speak.

Underneath the sass, Dorian was terrified, covering it with well-placed – but _false_ – bravado. His eyes kept ticking to Leliana's face, then to the dagger that Solona had given back to Leliana. But he also regarded the spymaster oddly, some other emotion mixed in with his fear, and it had taken her some time to place _why_. But, of course, when the answer came to her, it made sense. He had seen that future. He had seen what his actions had wrought, what had happened to Solona, to Leliana, and more importantly to all the world. Keeping that in mind as he explained himself, Leliana had seen that he genuinely had switched allegiance; that he was attempting to help undo the mistakes he had made while following the orders of his master.

And really, who was she to blame him for being made desperate out of love? _Or_ for following his master's orders? Had she not done _both_ under the tutelage of Marjolaine?

She would not _like_ him, would not be his friend or even do more than not kill him, but she could let this go. She would treat _him_ how Solona continued to treat Ser Cauthrien. Cauthrien wasn't truly at fault, but as Loghain was _dead_, Solona released all her pent-up rage on the knight every time she thought of the damage done to Leliana. And Leliana would do the same to Dorian. She would not abuse him. But she _would_resent him. It was safer, and more accessible than being angry with _Solona_, or even with Alexius.

And when the time came to convict and execute Alexius, she would _enjoy_ watching his body hang in the stiff breeze that ever blew in Haven. Not as much as she might enjoy plunging her weapons into his flesh herself, but still she would take what satisfaction she could from it.

The argument she and Solona had the evening before weighed heavily on her mind, however. While everyone in the Inquisition might now know that she was deaf, it did not worry her. Plenty already knew and could tell others, and a deaf accent sounded like an Orlesian accent, anyway. Her true weapon was that she might be deaf, but she might also _not_ be. No, what weighed on her was how she had hurt her lover by expecting superhuman feats from her. Solona could do much, she knew. But Solona could not do everything, and to voice that in front of everyone… she had deeply hurt both of them with those expectations.

They had made love after, soothing the hurt they'd caused in each other, soothing the fear and the anger and reaffirming their love and their trust. It was not completely fixed, of course. That would take _time_. But now… now they had it. She had her lover back, her lover who made love to her each night, who held her and let her weep and who swallowed her joyful cries with the kisses of one _starved_. Leliana honestly didn't know whose need was greater – they both _needed_ each other, and had not yet reached the easy equilibrium they had shared for eight and more years before Solona's disappearance. Leliana looked forward to its return. It wouldn't look precisely how it did before – much had happened for both of them – but still they would grow easier with each other than they were now.

A gentle pressure pushing into her backside made her squeal. Solona was awake instantly, sitting up, alarm clear on her face before looking past Leliana and grinning. The spymaster twisted to find Max had pushed his nose into her rump. He now sat, pleading eyes upon them, throat moving in such a way to indicate he whined.

She giggled. "I think perhaps the old man cannot hold it like he used to, and needs to go outside," she suggested.

Solona, ever the gentleman, was the one to climb out of bed into the chill morning air of the cabin, walk to the door, and open it. Both dogs bounded out and the cat bounded _in_ before Solona rejoined Leliana in bed.

Leliana immediately snuggled into her lover's shoulder. Another soft tap got the former bard's attention, and when she looked, she saw that Filou was already settling in on the peak of her hip. The cat and Solona had come to an uneasy arrangement that involved each ignoring the other. So far, it seemed to be working, though she could still feel the mage stiffen whenever Filou moved.

It nearly made Leliana laugh, though she was careful not to do so aloud. It was a sore spot for Solona, and while she enjoyed teasing her lover, it was an excellent way to make the snuggling _stop_, which was not what she wanted at the moment.

They merely lay together, not bothering to talk, as that would require separating. Indeed, they lay together, occasionally dozing, occasionally kissing, for some time, until Solona told her that someone knocked upon the door. Reluctant, Leliana parted from her lover, finding clothing so she could accept the morning meal that had been delivered to her every day since her arrival in Haven. It was the one luxury she took for herself, to not take her meals in the tavern like everyone else. It was too painful to be in there and not be able to hear anyone, to not hear the music of the minstrel, to not know what all her companions said to each other because she could only read one set of lips at once. And it was_dangerous_ – there was usually too much going on for her to feel safe without her hearing.

After eating, the two parted. Leliana grabbed her bow. She had made a decision after listening to the Herald's tale, and wished to do what she could for the elven woman, who had sacrificed so much for them. That Leliana had had a difficult time seeing that until Solona's return was painful to face, but she was an adult and would not hide from her shortcomings anymore. Solona brought out the best in her. When Solona was not near, those parts of herself had slowly been buried. It had been self-preservation, but still Leliana did not wish to live like that any longer. She had need of her icy shroud while she did her work. But at other times, she could stand to let it fall from her shoulders.

To her surprise, she found Zanneth out in the courtyard, near where Mother Giselle sang the Chant, as she did every morning. For a moment, all Leliana did was watch. Solona was in the crowd, listening, as was Cassandra. Solona did not typically prefer Chantry services, but with her return to the world, she felt the need for the peace offered, and Leliana could not begrudge her that. Maker knew _she_ used to derive much calming of her inner turmoil when she listened to Dorothea sing the Chant to her, all those years ago.

Cassandra was present at every service, always, unless she was on the road and unable to attend. Cassandra's was a quiet faith, but rock-solid. She spoke of the Maker's plan, the Maker's will, and knew the Chant by heart, but it did not often come into conversation unless it was relevant. But it was always in the back of her mind, Andraste's struggle, the Maker's plan for the world, and, more recently, how to make the Chantry more accurately represent Andraste's initial intent.

Leliana envied it at times. During her darkest moments, after Justinia's death and with Solona missing, the only thing that had kept the Left Hand clinging to her faith – by the very tips of her fingers – was that she had been _shown_ this eventuality. She had been _shown_ the image of herself, wearing the symbol of the Inquisition, though she did not know it at the time. In the vision, her hair was long, as it was now, she held a set of prayer beads and a sword, and she wore the very vestments she had been presented with as the Left Hand.

A vision some time before that had shown her Solona's face.

She was _meant_ to be here, with Solona, doing the work she was doing as both a servant of the Maker, and a perpetuator of darker deeds.

She had been literally _shown_ the Maker's plan for her. And during her darkest hours, that knowledge was the only thing that kept her from abandoning all of it altogether. And perhaps that was why it was shown to her: because she would one day need that memory in order to keep doing her work. Perhaps that was also why she was shown Solona's face. Because Leliana very much needed her love in order to keep doing this work that took such a terrible toll on her and her conscience.

Zanneth stood some ways off, not part of the crowd surrounding Mother Giselle, but close enough to hear, if Leliana was any judge, deaf as she was. The elf stood in the leather uniform of Cullen's scouts, arms crossed over her chest. A standard-issue shortbow was strung over her back, as well as the short sword she had become so much more familiar with since she was last in Haven, and a quiver full of arrows. At the small of her back was her hunting knife. The proud Dalish elf was every inch the hunter, and it seemed she had learned her lesson. Even here, in Haven, she now protected herself.

It made Leliana a little sad. In her clan's camp, such a thing would not be conceived of. What a harsh reality this must be for the woman, to be "home" and yet still fear attacks like those from Threnn. The woman was dead, and yet still she had left a nasty little legacy, visible in the scars upon Zanneth's cheek and in her chosen manner of dress.

The Dalish elf _was_ relaxed, however, crossing her arms merely to relax them. Her white hair shone in the sunlight, much as Solona's did. Her ears cut through the hair – shaggier by the day – and made a perfect point just past the line of her scalp. Truly, she cut a handsome figure, and Leliana could see what attracted Cassandra to the Herald.

Perhaps not everyone would call the elf's profile a handsome one, as it was _elven_ and therefore inferior. Leliana had no patience for that kind of thinking. She used it to her advantage when she must, yes – any card when playing the Game _ought_ to be exploited when possible – but she despised those who believed so deeply that they were somehow superior to those of other races.

They were all _people_, floundering about, trying to carve a place for themselves in this world. Did pointed ears and a shorter stature truly denote_so_ much difference?

Leliana finally decided to break her silence. She was unsurprised to see Zanneth turn to her almost as soon as she began walking: elves, in general, did have far superior hearing to humans and would hear the spymaster's footfalls when a human would not.

"Hello," the elf greeted, eyes guarded.

Leliana smiled. "Good morning." She came to a stop several paces from the Herald. "I admit, I would not expect one of the People to be listening to the Chant of Light."

Zanneth shrugged, but kept her lips visible to the deaf spymaster. "It is pleasant. Mother Giselle's voice is deep and rich. It is beautiful to listen to. And…"

"Yes?" Leliana prompted.

"I miss stories," the elf finally said. "Cassandra said you are familiar with a Dalish clan in Ferelden?"

"Yes, that is true."

"Then you must know how important _stories_ are to us. I… I do not know that I believe them as fact, but this song of Andraste is compelling, as a story goes. Besides that, she speaks of the People when she speaks of Andraste." She shrugged again, as if to say that it was as simple as that.

Knowing what little Leliana did of Zanneth, it _was_ as simple as that.

"I understand," Leliana said, nodding. "I miss the Chant. Even when I did not listen to the words, the chanting itself brought an inner peace that is… irreplaceable."

"You do not attend service? Did you not serve the head of the Chantry?"

Leliana pursed her lips a moment. "Yes, I did. But I can no longer hear the Chant, and I cannot read the lips of someone who sings. It is… very painful to stand in the crowd and yet still be apart from that body of worshippers. Divine Justinia used to pray with me, gesture with her hands and whisper the Chant so I could see the words upon her lips and in her hands. She was the only other person who ever learned how to communicate with me as Solona does."

Zanneth's eyes widened slightly, like something suddenly made sense. "Ah, yes. I have seen a few times and wondered. Hand signals for words?"

Leliana smiled. "Yes. It was developed especially for the deaf at a school in Val Royeaux. We went, and we learned." Her eyes flicked to Solona's tall, broad back. "One of the many ways she has shown her devotion."

"Devoted is the word I would use, yes. From what I have seen, that is the one consistent thing I can say about her."

Leliana laughed quietly. "So diplomatic! It is all right, Your Worship. You can call her for what she is. She can be infuriating! She is quick to anger and also quick to laugh, sometimes within the span of minutes. She has atrocious table manners, and _refuses_ to play the Game of the Orlesian Court, much to the chagrin of the nobles there. We complement each other. She is many things I am not, and I would risk much to keep her that way. I would defend that heart on her sleeve ruthlessly, if need be."

"Is that why you went after Dorian?"

Leliana's eyes flashed. "Yes. That, and I had no idea that the one who captured Solona was _him_. I had seen his name, read descriptions of him, but I did not know he was the same man Solona described. So when I saw him… I saw only the face Solona showed me, who captured her and robbed us all of her presence. My response was nearly instinctual – I would protect my love, Your Worship. I owe her that much after all she has done to protect me, after all she has given up to be with me."

Zanneth's eyes were large, reflecting the light of the Breach. "And what has she done for you, if I may ask?"

"She set herself afire once," Leliana answered, grinning a little.

"Truly?"

Leliana nodded. "Yes. I was in danger, captured by a creature we fought in the Deep Roads, and when she saw, it was like a well of anger and power opened up within her. She set herself ablaze and threw herself at the beast."

Zaneth blinked a few times, looking to Solona before facing Leliana once more. "It is hard to believe, looking at her. She is… so easy-mannered. I have seen her with the children. There is a young man among the mages she converses with, as well as Sera. She heals our sick and injured. It is hard to imagine her so… _violent_."

Leliana nodded. "Yes, well. Remember that, always, yes? Even the most innocent-looking, seemingly-powerless person is capable of packing tremendous power. Look at me, and yourself. I wield a network of spies that could bring kingdoms and empires to their knees, should I but bend my will to the task. And _you_, well… you can close the rifts. Not a single other person can do _that_."

"You are right, of course. Even my own Keeper is constantly at risk for becoming an abomination, should something go wrong," Zanneth said, nodding. "Every person has the capability of causing great harm, mage or no."

Leliana nodded. "Yes. It is our choices that set us apart. And for Solona… she chose, after the Grey Wardens ousted her, that she would no longer use her unique brand of magic for battle. She would use her magic to _heal_, as her mentor did."

"An arcane warrior who does not do battle?"

"Oh, she does battle," Leliana clarified. "Already her body is strengthening from sparring with Cassandra. No, what I mean is that if she brings death, if she causes injury or takes a life, it is without magic. She would do it with her own hands, and she would not have her magic warped by the battle-lust. It is too easy to lose herself in revelry when she does. And she does not wish to revel in death. Instead… instead her magic is used to heal, to bring joy, and to make life easier for others." Leliana thought of their forays into the Fade. She thought of the beauty brought to their lovemaking when Solona channeled her arcane magic. She thought of all the times Solona had come home to their apartment in the Grand Cathedral exhausted but so happy that she had saved a life, kept someone from losing a limb, or helped to bring a beautiful child into the world. "It is truly stunning to behold."

Zanneth smiled, the _vallaslin_ upon her face accentuating the curve of her cheeks and lips. "I can see the devotion is present in equal measure for both of you."

Leliana felt her face flush. "Yes. Well." She was flustered. _Recover, Leliana! Why did you seek the Herald out?_ It did not escape her that the subject of _her own_ love flustered her. "I actually did not come out here to speak of the Chant or of my love, though I do not mind it." She eyed the bow on Zanneth's back. "How is your replacement bow working for you?"

The elf immediately frowned. "It is… sufficient. And I am grateful that I could be outfitted so quickly, as I lost both my bow and my sword in… the _other_ Redcliffe." Then she sighed. "But it is no longbow, and it is not of Dalish make. It falls short of what I have become accustomed to."

Leliana nodded. "I suspected as much." She unslung her own longbow from her back, holding it out. "What do you make of this?"

Zanneth took the bow. She tested its balance, ran her fingers along the carvings – birds, of many sorts – and then drew back the string to test its strength. Looking back up to Leliana, she said what the spymaster expected her to. "This is of Dalish make. How did you come to have it?"

"It was a gift," Leliana said simply, "from a dear friend, Mithra, a huntress with the Dalish clan you mentioned. It is no replacement for the bow your mother carried, but… I want you to have it."

Zanneth's eyes got very wide. "What? No, this was a gift to _you_, from one of the People. I can see here the Nightingale prominently carved into it. I couldn't take it."

Leliana smirked. "It is already in your hands, Your Worship." She giggled lightly as Zanneth immediately tried to hand it back. "No, please. As I was the one who robbed you of your family heirloom, I thought I should be the one to replace it. As I said, what you lost cannot truly be replaced, but… You returned someone to me I thought I had lost forever. And you lost your bow _in order_ to do so. The least I can do is replace your weapon – indeed, as a hunter, your lifeline – with something comparable. I can get a new bow. I do not find myself in combat all that often anymore. This bow is of the People. It is meant to be _used_, not to be a prize upon the back of a vain, middle aged spymaster."

Zanneth considered her, eyes narrowed. Finally, she nodded, unslung the shortbow, and exchanged it for the bow given Leliana by Mithra. "_Ma serannas_, Sister Nightingale."

Leliana placed the shortbow upon her own back. "You are most welcome. And please, call me Leliana."

Zanneth smirked. "Only if you also call me by my name."

Leliana laughed. "You, Solona, and Alistair would get along famously simply for that! Yes, all right. In small company, when formality is not required, I shall call you Zanneth, and you shall call me Leliana. Yes?"

Zanneth nodded. "Yes."

As they sobered, Leliana watched Zanneth turn again to watch the service. The spymaster noticed something then. Zanneth did not watch Mother Giselle, as all in the congregation did. No, the Herald of Andraste watched the Seeker of Truth.

"_Mala lath_," she said, demonstrating more of her knowledge of the incomplete elven language by pointing out Zanneth's love for the woman her eyes rested upon.

Zanneth's head whipped around. "Pardon me?"

"It is not one-sided," Leliana said, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips. "You love Cassandra."

Zanneth looked around wildly for a moment, before she encouraged Leliana away from the group gathered in the open air to hear the Chant of Light.

They came to a stop behind the Chantry. "How do you know?" the elf asked without preamble. "Did Dorian say something yesterday when you debriefed him?"

"Oh, no!" Leliana exclaimed, shaking her head vehemently. "How does _he_ know?"

Zanneth opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, looking perplexed. "Wait. Perhaps… we should start over?"

"I know because I have _eyes_, Zanneth," Leliana said, grinning slightly. "You stare at our fair Seeker with admiration and love in your eyes. That love was not present when you left Haven last. What _else_ happened in Redcliffe? Did she say something?"

"In a manner of speaking…" The elf hunched her shoulders. "I imagine you know of _her_ feelings…?"

Leliana nodded.

"Right. Well. In that… _future_ that we avoided, she… I found her, and she… kissed me." The elf's face flushed as she spoke, but the words were less halting the more of them appeared. She explained all that happened, how Cassandra had kissed her, declared her love, how she had sacrificed herself for Zanneth. It was all _very_ romantic. And _very_ Cassandra, in such a situation.

When she was through, Leliana voiced her confusion. "If you _know_ how she feels, and it sounds like you know how _you_ feel… then what is difficult about coming together here and now? You can celebrate that you are both alive!"

"Will it be the same?" Zanneth turned large brown eyes to the spymaster's blue, pleading. "Those precious few hours, while desperate, were… magical. Eye-opening. I did not know what love felt like until then, until I realized that it was what I felt. What if I say something and it is not as it was?"

Leliana shook her head. "Of course it will be different, Zanneth." The elf immediately wilted. Leliana reached out, tilting the Herald's chin up before withdrawing her fingers once more. They were not close. She had not earned the right to touch this young woman freely as she did Josie or Revka, or even Cassandra. "It will be different because it will not be desperate. It will be different because it will not be temporary and doomed from the start. It will be different because Cassandra will not have _tortured_ herself for a year by never saying anything. And it will be different because she will not have lost you and then had you come back from the dead. But 'different' does not mean 'worse.' You will not know what your second chance with her will look like until you are in it."

"I do not know… _how_," Zanneth said, eyebrows furrowing. "I was betrothed, but I did not love him, not how I love Cassandra. The People are not openly affectionate. I do not know what other's love looks like."

Leliana laughed again. "But of course you do! Or have you not been watching those around you _here_?"

"I… what?"

"Josie and Cauthrien court so chivalrously, though I doubt their nighttime forays resemble anything so polite as the face they show in public. You have myself and Solona. Revka and Cullen have such a beautiful little family blooming. Many young couples form, and carry on quite publicly, and _loudly,_ I am told. Have you missed all of it? It is all love, at various stages, of various kinds, and it all looks different. But it is, all of it, _good_. For it is _love_."

Zanneth's gaze wandered, the elf clearly thinking. Leliana watched for a moment, gathering her own thoughts, before finally speaking. "If I might make a suggestion? _Tell her_. Tell her what happened in Redcliffe. The _whole_ story, involving the two of you. Let her take the lead from there. Cassandra is one of the most passionate, romantic people I have met, despite outward appearances. She loves you, and she is incredibly sensitive once you delve below the armor of the warrior that she wears. She will know what to do from there."

Taking a deep breath, Leliana plunged on, having one more weapon in her arsenal to make this thing happen. "Tomorrow we travel to the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes to close the Breach. It has nearly killed you twice now. Who knows what will happen? All those mages, channeling magic into you, who do not have magic in your blood… it might nearly kill you again. Or it might kill you outright. I cannot say. I know enough about you to know you will do it because it must be done, no matter the risk to your life, but I ask you this: would you also risk leaving Cassandra as you found her in that dark future? Mourning a love she was never able to consummate? Give her this, Your Worship. Give her the surety, before you risk your life yet another time, that she has your love as you know you have hers."

Large eyes looked upon her, but Leliana merely turned and began walking. It was important to leave Zanneth with those words, with those thoughts. She would see this budding relationship finally bloom. They both needed the other, and were too reticent to do it on their own. Leliana was only glad she could occasionally use her powers of persuasion to bring forth joy for others.

Self-satisfied smirk pulling at her lips, Leliana walked back to the service, joining the crowd for the first time in years. She found Solona, slipped her hand into the mage's, and watched Mother Giselle, entirely too pleased with herself for what she knew would be happening by nightfall.

* * *

_A/N: Special thanks to Raven Sinead, who not only betas for me, but also helps me come up with excellent ideas. This conversation between Leliana and Zanneth is a very good example of something that is made amazing when the two of us brainstorm._

_Also, the elvish language I use, "mala lath," is my interpretation for what I found on the wiki, intended to mean "your love."_


	39. The Truth

_A/N: Hold on to your asses, it's the chapter you've been begging and waiting and rending your clothes for!_

_Also, I'm terribly sorry, but I've decided to shift my focus away from fanfiction for NaNoWriMo. I will not be putting this on hiatus, but I want to work on my book every day of November, which means this will take a back seat and not be updated as often as it has been. I'm not going to stop writing it completely, but it might be awhile until the next chapter. But! Maybe I'll have something to publish at the end of the month! Who knows?_

_Okay. That's it. Onward!_

* * *

Zanneth walked through Haven, searching for Cassandra. She had not been in the Chantry, nor in the tavern, nor down in the practice yard. There was only one obvious place left to look before the elf would resort to asking someone if they had seen the woman. Given the reasons Zanneth sought the Seeker out, she would rather not have to resort to bringing someone else into her search.

In her hands she bore a gift. She had been working on it since shortly after returning to Haven three weeks before. It was a happy coincidence that it was ready today, of all days. She decided to take that as a good sign, and proceed with her plans.

Coming to a stop at the door to the cabin, Zanneth took a moment to collect herself. _I am going to do this. I am going to go in, and I am going to tell Cassandra all that has happened. It will not go badly. I already know how she feels. I can do this._ She took another deep breath. _I can do this._

Raising her hand, Zanneth knocked upon the door.

In the split second before she heard a muffled response, she prepared herself for disappointment, for the need to recruit someone else into her search. But an altogether _different_ kind of panic made her heart flutter when that muffled sound reached her ears. _This is happening. I am going to do this._

_I can do this._

The door opened a moment later. Zanneth's heart stopped momentarily. Standing in the door was Cassandra, hair wet and tousled, presumably from a bath. She wore simple homespun, brown trousers and white shirt, but they showed such detail of her body in comparison with her armor that Zanneth immediately wanted to reach out and touch.

This was the first person she had ever wished to reach out and touch.

"Zanneth! Hello." Cassandra stood aside. "Please, come in." Her voice was… flustered, perhaps? Zanneth was unsure.

Taking the invitation, she stepped inside, removing her boots by the door so as not to track mud or rocks into the small cabin. Moving to the middle of the room, she took in her surroundings. Something seemed… different from the last time she was here. There was a tension in the air that was not present last time.

"I was actually going to seek you out this evening," Cassandra was saying, going to put another log on the fire.

"I suppose I beat you to it," Zanneth tried to joke, thought it fell flat. Frustrating, to say the least, that it should feel so awkward now even though _nothing_ had changed. _Nothing except my own resolve_.

"Yes, indeed. Was… there something you needed?" Cassandra's voice was higher than normal. She was nervous about something.

Zanneth held out the item she had been carrying. "I have something for you." Those words, at least, came easily. And they had the benefit of being true.

Cassandra took the item with furrowed brows. "This is for me?" She held it up to the light. "Zanneth, it is _beautiful_."

It was a hunting knife, the bone handle carved painstakingly over the last three weeks by Zanneth, with her own hands. It had the likeness of a halla prancing upon it. She had then asked the blacksmith to fashion a hunting knife with the carved handle. He had even taken the liberty of making a sheath of hardened leather for it. _"It's a beautiful blade,"_ he'd gruffed, handing it to her. _"Deserved to not be naked."_

"It is for you," Zanneth answered now, fighting the flush that tried to creep up her throat and onto her cheeks.

Cassandra pulled the blade from its sheath. "What did I ever do to deserve such a kingly gift?"

Zaneth's lips pulled up in a small smile. "You were _you_."

Cassandra's eyes flashed up at that answer, wide and surprised.

Zanneth found the words coming before she could quite even think of what she would say. "Cassandra, in Redcliffe, in that future I described… there was more to it than I was ready to share with you. But… I am ready now."

Cassandra sheathed the blade and set it aside. "I'm listening." Her tone was frustratingly neutral.

"When I found you in the dungeons, you… you did not just vow to help get me back here." Zanneth paused, taking a deep breath. "You told me you _loved_ me, Cassandra." She turned away, unable to look upon that face while she fumbled for the right words. "You branded me with your kisses and you told me you _love_ me. And damn me, but that was what it took for me to see that I felt the same. _Feel_ the same. Before you d- before I returned here, you entreated one favor of me, and I am finally ready to try to fulfill it.

"In my clan, we exchange gifts, meaningful ones that we make ourselves, when we wish to court another. We make it out of something, or carve something into it, that represents the person. You are loyal and fierce, proud and strong, still and silent and always looking over everyone, just like the halla. And as the halla are essential to our clan, so too have _you_ become essential to _me_." Zanneth finally ran out of words. She took a deep breath, searching for more, but none would come. She had said what she needed to say, even if she had not said it well.

She did not turn back to Cassandra until she felt a familiar hand upon her shoulder, fingers urging her lightly to turn. Zanneth acquiesced, finding cinnamon eyes staring back at her. Cassandra's voice was low, gruff, husky, as she spoke. Entirely opposite of how it had been when the elf entered this room. "What did I entreat you to do?"

Zanneth swallowed. Her answer came out as a whisper, her voice having deserted her. "You asked me to _make you see_ that this was something you could have. That _we_ could have."

"I see." Cassandra moved closer.

Zanneth could only look up into her eyes. The Seeker's hand was still upon her shoulder. Zanneth's heart beat so hard upon her breastbone that she feared it might try to escape. She remembered how those lips burned, pouring heat into her and awakening a passion within she had never before felt. She remembered how it felt to be held so close, so desperately, bodies pressing and melting together through their clothing. She remembered what the Seeker felt like underneath her hands, the way her fingers fit in all the places that pulled them together.

For the first time, images of the Seeker's death did not haunt her. Not with Cassandra so close and so warm and so _gloriously_ alive.

Hot breath washed over her face as Cassandra stopped, mere inches away. Their bodies touched, breasts, bellies, and hips. The Seeker's hand still rested upon Zanneth's shoulder. "I _see_, Zanneth," she said, barely more than a whisper.

"Creators!" Zanneth exclaimed in a rough whisper, hands reaching for the Seeker's hips and pulling her close. "Kiss me, Cassandra!"

The Seeker complied.

* * *

Heart in her throat, Cassandra did the only thing she could at such a command. She kissed Zanneth.

Everything about the elf was smaller than Cassandra. She had smaller hands, was of shorter stature, and even her mouth was a smaller target than the warrior was accustomed to. But, _oh_, how those lips seared! Wrapping her arms around the slight shoulders, Cassandra leaned over the shorter elf, leaned into Zanneth's upturned face and covered her lips in the kiss she had wished to give for months now.

She purred to feel Zanneth's hands move from her hips to the small of her back, pulling tightly. Scents of the forest washed over her, scents of leather and wood and earth, but as she ventured out tentatively with her tongue, she found an altogether new scent, something dark and sweet, that could only be _Zanneth_. She groaned into the kiss as she tasted it, as she smelled this rich scent, pulling the elf closer. Her heart nearly reached up to choke her when Zanneth whimpered into the kiss.

Finally, _finally_, she pulled back, just enough to get some air. She rested her forehead upon Zanneth's tattooed one, looking down into those deep, dark eyes.

Breathing heavily, she said the words she had kept to herself for far too long. "I love you, Zanneth." It was simple, but it was _true_, and she would not cheapen it by adding more words for the sake of having more words. Words had always fallen short for Cassandra Pentaghast.

But Zanneth was a kindred spirit in this, rarely using more words than necessary. A hand snaked up to cup Cassandra's cheek, the elf's thumb dipping into the depths of the scar there. "I know," she said, smiling up into her face. "And I love you, _ma vhenan_."

Cassandra did not know what the words meant. But it did not matter. She understood. She _saw_, as she had entreated Zanneth to make her do. She saw, and she was here, and _this was happening_.

Surging forward, Cassandra caught those delicious red lips again. Zanneth's lips were warm, supple, and maybe just a little bit clumsy. But it was so endearing, and the ardor within the little elf was enough to bring Cassandra to her knees.

_Bed. My knees won't give out if I am on the bed._

Turning with Zanneth in her arms was a little difficult, as the elf was pressed as close to Cassandra as she could get, but the warrior managed. Walking Zanneth backward, they reached her narrow bed. The elf sat abruptly when the backs of her legs hit the edge of it.

Cassandra stood between her legs, looking down upon this amazing creature. The late afternoon light came in through the windows, around the perpetually drawn curtains, lighting the room in a dim, orange glow. It lit Zanneth's pale skin, her white hair, the entrancing lines of the _vallaslin_ upon her face. A few layers of cloth, and she would once again see those lines as they traveled down her arms and onto her chest. She would see those breasts with eyes of desire, without shying away. She could hold them, hold Zanneth, feel her skin, and this time, the elf would not weep. Only joy would be had.

_You are making an awful lot of assumptions, Cassandra_.

The Seeker reached out to cup Zanneth's cheek. Her internal voice was right. She had a tendency to plow through things, to bully her way over people. It worked well as a Seeker of Truth and as a warrior, but here, now… that is not how she wanted this to be remembered, by either of them.

"Do you want this, dear one?"

Zanneth shuddered, closing her eyes and leaning into the touch. "That is not the first time you have called me that." Her eyes snapped open. "Yes. I want this. I want _you_. Though, I confess… I do not know the moves to this dance."

"Just keep touching me," Cassandra said, leaning down, guiding the elf to lie on her back. "We shall figure the rest of it out in due course."

As soon as Cassandra held herself over the elf, hands reached up to cup her face. No words were spoken, but none were needed. When Zanneth pulled her closer, pulled her weight so it rested atop her, pulled her in for another kiss, Cassandra knew what she meant: _I think I shall die if I stop touching you_. The Seeker met the kiss with a slight growl.

Leaving Zanneth's bright red lips was almost torture, but her reward was the pale, delicious skin of her throat. Cassandra kissed a trail along the elf's jaw, finding the scars left by Threnn and taking the time to cover every part of them with her lips. Zanneth held tightly to her, keeping her very close, entwining their legs and burying her fingers in the warrior's hair. It felt divine, those blunt nails coursing over her scalp. When Cassandra reached the elf's ear, however, Zanneth practically seized in her arms.

"Ah," Cassandra breathed, pressing the lightest kiss to the base of the ear. "I have heard elven ears are extremely sensitive. I suppose it is true, then?"

Zanneth groaned, wrapping her legs around Cassandra's waist and moving her hips in an altogether indecent way. Tiny little gyrations that the human was sure the elf was not even quite conscious of.

"Hm. This is interesting," she continued, before taking her tongue and running the length of the elf's ear, all the way to the pointed tip. She would have continued, peppering all around the ear with kisses, nibbling all along it, bathing it with her tongue, but she was not allowed. Instead, Zanneth's hands left her shoulders, took her face, and forced her back just enough to deliver a _blistering_ kiss.

The mood had shifted tangibly. Zanneth no longer just wanted Cassandra and her touch. She was _desperate_ for it. The warrior lost herself in the kiss, in the shedding of their clothes. Both of their hands reached, searching, fumbling with ties and buckles. When skin finally slid along skin, Cassandra felt she might pass out from the extraordinary sensations. It had been so _long_ since she did this with another, and Zanneth was such a different specimen from her experience in the pleasures of the flesh.

Despite a life of running in the woods, climbing trees, sleeping upon the ground, and felling animals to feed her clan, Zanneth's skin was, overall, smooth as silk, and just as warm. As every inch of skin was revealed, Cassandra feasted her eyes, finally reaching out and _touching_ as much as she wished. She traces the lines of the _vallaslin_ down Zanneth's arms, onto her chest. She took each small breast in-hand, flicking the nipples that were already hard peaks despite the warm air. All the while, their lips barely parted. She plunged her tongue into the elf's mouth, delighting when Zanneth sucked upon it, whimpering and groaning and whispering the Seeker's name.

Finally, when all their clothing had been removed, Cassandra slid atop the elf once more. All thought had left her. She existed as a tightly coiled ball of need, holding an even more-tightly coiled ball in her arms.

One thought did intrude, however.

"Zanneth," she said, savoring this woman's name, cherishing the dark eyes turned upon her, the hands exploring her skin, the way those dark red lips parted in a sigh. "Zanneth, I love you."

"_Ar lath ma_," the elf whispered in return. It felt like a benediction, despite Cassandra not understanding the words. Again, she did not need to. She could see Zanneth's face, could feel her body, her hands, could hear the way the words were spoken.

Now came the part, however, that even Cassandra was out of her depth for. She had never lain with a woman, indeed had never looked upon a woman with desire in her eyes until Zanneth. She did not wish to think of Galyan now, but he was the only person she had shared a bed with in her forty years of life. _What would he do? He pleased me with more than his manhood_.

Reaching between them, Cassandra was almost surprised when her fingers slid into Zanneth's slick arousal. She was practically dripping, she wasso wet. The sparse, downy hair over her sex had almost done more to help guide Cassandra here than it had done to present any kind of barrier.

"Yes," the elf whispered, her hips moving again, her legs coming up with wrap around Cassandra's hips once more. "Yes, please, touch me, _emma lath_. I _need_ you. I need you… inside…" She whimpered and pleaded, her eyes holding fast to the Seeker's.

Cassandra let Zanneth's body guide her, catching the elf's lips in another kiss as she let her fingers glide through the elf's arousal. The folds of flesh were incredibly entrancing, so similar to her own, and yet entirely different. Zanneth lacked the full measure of hair Cassandra possessed, yes, but more than that, Cassandra could not _feel_ what her hands did as she could when she touched herself. She could feel it in Zanneth's body, however, the way the elf's grip tightened, the way the elf gasped, parting their kiss to whisper her pleasure into Cassandra's mouth, the way her hips pushed into Cassandra's touch.

Kissing and nibbling her way, Cassandra again visited one of Zanneth's sensitive ears. At the same time, she moved her hand forward, plunging deep with two fingers inside of her new lover, using her hips for leverage.

"Ah!" Zanneth cried, tilting her head back, giving Cassandra unfettered access to her ear. The warrior latched on, nibbling and sucking until she found the most sensitive spot, and then staying there. Again she plunged her fingers forward, and the elf bucked against her, legs tightening around her hips. Nails dug into her back, but Cassandra did not care. It felt better than she could have imagined. And being buried inside a woman? _This_ woman? Cassandra was not sure she would ever grow accustomed to it. It felt too good, to be there, to give this pleasure to the one who had come to mean so much to her.

They had both lost so much. It seemed right that they could give this to each other, come together and find love and pleasure and companionship in one who _knew_ what it was like to live the kind of horrors they had each known.

Some things Cassandra _did_ know about pleasing a woman, for she herself was a woman. Maneuvering her hand correctly was difficult, as Zanneth was clinging so tightly her that she barely had the room. But she managed to get a thumb where she needed it. It took a moment to find the right pressure and type of stroke, but once she had it, it took less than a minute for the elf to come apart in her arms, meaningless syllables falling from her lips and filling the air with their song.

She held fast, burying her fingers as far as they would go while holding Zanneth close to her with her other arm. All the while, she whispered her encouragement in the elf's ear. "Yes, dear one, yes. Come apart for me. Release for me, with me inside of you, where I belong." Zanneth finally muffled a cry against Cassandra's shoulder, biting and holding tight with all her limbs. Again, Cassandra did not mind. It felt _good_, to cause the elf to lose control like this. She herself had not been this aroused in a very long time.

After a seeming eternity of Zanneth's lithe little body being wire-tight, the elf finally relaxed. Her arms remained around Cassandra's shoulders, but her legs fell to the warrior's sides, and the body beneath her, in her arms, became utterly boneless. Pulling back some, Cassandra looked upon that beloved face. Dark eyes looked back upon her.

"You are all right?"

Zanneth grinned sheepishly. Her skin was flush all the way to the tips of her ears. "I can't… that was…" She looked away, flushed deeper. "I don't know if I can move."

Cassandra laughed, burying her face in the elf's throat. "That is good, then. That is where I wished to take you." She removed her fingers slowly, but still the elf whimpered, her embrace tightening momentarily. She relaxed once more, however, when Cassandra could sneak her other arm around the elf's shoulders.

"You are a treasure, Zanneth," she said, pressing a kiss to her chin, where the _vallaslin_ covered it in thin, spreading lines like the roots of a tree. "You are a treasure and I never intend to let you go."

"_Ma vhenan_," Zanneth murmured, palming Cassandra's cheek.

The Seeker turned to kiss the elf's palm. "What do those words mean?"

"'My heart,'" the elf answered, her dark eyes holding such a depth of emotion in them. Her fingers played with Cassandra's hair, petting the warrior hovering over her as she spoke. "I never truly understood what it meant. It is what my parents called me. It is what Grandmother calls me, among other endearments. I never knew that they had a piece of their hearts in me. I didn't know… I had no idea I could have a piece of my heart live in another. But _you_, _emma lath_… you have a piece of my heart, and I did not even know it until this moment."

Emotion surging within her, Cassandra leaned forward, kissing the elf once more. When finally they parted, she could see and feel that Zanneth's passion was rising once more.

She chuckled. "So you _can_ move, then."

Zanneth's eyes flashed, and then Cassandra found the elf, small though she was, flipping her, switching their positions so she lay atop the warrior. It was new, and different, and delicious in its own way.

Sitting astride her hips, lithe body on display in the dim room – now lit only by firelight – Zanneth smirked down at her. Dark eyes raked over Cassandra's body, and the warrior was pleased to see that the elf liked what she saw. Leaning forward, the Herald hovered over one of Cassandra's large breasts. "By the time I am through with you," the elf whispered, warm breath gusting over Cassandra's nipple, causing her to arch her back, trying to get that delectable mouth to close over it, "neither of us will be able to walk."

Cassandra's gasp lifted into the darkening night as Zanneth finally closed her warm, wet mouth around the warrior's nipple.

* * *

_I am happy for you, lethallan_.

Zanneth woke with a start. Confused, she pushed herself into a sitting position, looking around the room to try to figure out where she was.

"Wuzzat?" The voice was Cassandra's. Memories of the evening before flooded her, and she couldn't help but to grin, feeling a flush of heat travel up her chest, her face, and to the very tips of her ears. Cassandra stirred, rolling over, taking the bedcovers with her.

"What are you doing awake?" The warrior's voice was low and sleepy. It made Zanneth smile. Everything about the Seeker made the Herald smile.

"The fire went out," she said, though that was of course not the reason she had awoken. She'd had a dream, but she couldn't remember what it had been about. "I will coax it back to life."

She got out of bed to murmured protest, but it was only half-hearted. Cassandra was clearly still doused in sleep. The elf walked across the room, for the first time unabashed in her nudity – truly, how could she continue to be self-conscious after all they had done only hours ago? Stoking the fire, she put several logs on it before making her way back to Cassandra's bed.

To her surprise, the warrior was now awake, her eyes reflecting the firelight. The covers were pulled back, her body laid out on display, and Zanneth took a moment to truly feast her eyes. She let her gaze linger on the large, satin breasts, traveling down over a solid, muscled belly to narrow hips with only a hint of flare from the solid waist. Her eyes moved down over long, _very_ muscular legs to where they disappeared under the covers before they moved back up to the apex of those legs. A thick thatch of very dark hair covered the human's sex, and Zanneth shivered to remember all the wonder she had found hidden behind it. To have such tangible proof that this indomitable warrior could be so soft and sensitive underneath, warm and silken and _putty_ in her hands…

"While I do not mind being stared at so," Cassandra said, recalling the elf's attention, "it is starting to get cold." She held out a hand. "Come here." Zanneth complied eagerly, crawling into the bed and letting Cassandra guide her head to the human's shoulder. She was so _warm_. "You are freezing!" the warrior exclaimed, enveloping the elf with her body.

Zanneth smiled, nuzzling in deeper. "The whole room is cold, _emma lath_."

"Mmm, and I am warm. And you use that, so selfishly." Cassandra's tone was teasing, and Zanneth loved it. She loved that the warrior was so less reserved now, so open, so free with herself. She hoped it would stay this way between them, at least in private. For she would never grow tired of seeing this side of Cassandra. She knew nobody else saw it, not even the warrior's closest confidantes.

"What does that mean, dear one?" Cassandra asked after a moment, cutting short Zanneth's reverie.

"Hmmm?"

Zanneth felt a hand caress her cheek, the pads of the warrior's fingers drifting smoothly along the large scar left from Threnn's attack. "What you said in elven just now. _Emma lath_. You have said it many times. What does it mean?"

Zanneth smiled, looking up to find Cassandra's expression curious, but also earnest. "My love."

"'My heart' and 'my love'. What else do you say to me in this entrancing language?"

Zanneth pushed herself up so that she might kiss this marvelous creature in whose arms she has found herself. "I tell you that you are my love," she said, dropping a kiss on the warrior's forehead. "I tell you that you have my heart." She placed a kiss on each of Cassandra's eyelids. "And I tell you that I love you as I have never loved before." She caught the Seeker's lips with her own, inhaling deeply of the warrior's scent, of leather, wood, steel, and spice. It was pervasive, surrounding her in feelings of safety and warmth.

They parted, and Zanneth settled into the crook of Cassandra's arm. "So many endearments you use, and I have never heard you speak the language before," the warrior said, playing idly with Zanneth's left hand. "Why is that?"

The elf shook her head slightly. "Most of the old language is lost to us. We know phrases only, and we use them as frequently as we can. But here… there are only two I have met who would know the return phrases, should I use them, and they are both human. They are the words of the People. I appreciate that Leliana and Josephine know the words, and I appreciate that they do not use them unless I do so first. It would feel… _wrong_, somehow."

"I see." Cassandra was quiet a moment, continuing to caress Zanneth's hand in her own. "And… if _I_ used these words? These phrases that you use for me? Would that, too, feel wrong, if I used them for you?"

Zanneth looked up, meeting Cassandra's eyes. "No, they would not. For they are for me. These words that I use to tell you how I treasure you… it would be a boon to hear them in your voice, to have them whispered to me as we make love. They are for _me_, and _you_ are for me, and…" She made a frustrated sound. "Words are not my forte. Yes, please, Cassandra. It would be a balm to hear you call me these things."

The Seeker had stayed quiet while Zanneth found her words. Now, she tightened her grasp around the elf's shoulders, kissing her hair. "You shall have to teach them to me. I would say them correctly." They lay together a while after that, not sleeping but also not feeling the need to speak.

Not until Zanneth's hand began glowing more brightly, as it sometimes did. "It feels so warm," Cassandra said, her voice holding awe. "Can you feel it when it does that?"

"Yes." Zanneth, too, studied her hand, held in her lover's. "A vague, warm pulse, though the beat is far slower than my heart."

"When you came to me yesterday, I was planning to seek you out, to tell you of my feelings. I did not wish to regret not telling you, to have you leave us, go back to your clan, and be out of my reach forever. But you came to me before I could do so. What pushed you here, dear one?"

Zanneth thought for a moment. Should she mention Leliana and their talk? The spymaster's words had pushed her here, yes, but perhaps she could say those words without mentioning the spymaster? She didn't want it to seem as though she _only_ came here because Leliana said she ought to. The carving of her courtship gift was proof enough that she had been planning to say something for weeks, but she simply had not found the right time yet.

She held up her hand, removing it from Cassandra's and allowing the mark to bathe them in its faint green glow. "In that future, where you bared your heart and soul to me, you regretted never saying anything. I had left you, and you thought me dead, and you never knew, never had the closure of knowing if your affections were returned. Tomorrow, we close the Breach. I did not want to risk my life, knowing what I know of both our feelings. I did not want to risk sending you into the future without me, again never knowing if your feelings were returned.

"Tomorrow, I still risk my life. If I should perish, it would be a different sort of mourning for you. But… it seems it would be cleaner, more pure. You would be _allowed_ to mourn, publicly, to sequester yourself and participate in whatever mourning customs belong to you. You asked me to make you see. You knew what I would risk, that you would risk losing me. You did not want to mourn me in that state again. You wanted to _know_. It seemed the least I could give you."

Cassandra was quiet a moment. "It seems a small thing, but it is a large gift you give me. Thank you. I do not look forward to the risk we all take tomorrow. Something could go wrong, and we all could perish, as happened at the Conclave. But still, it must be done." She turned, pulling herself atop Zanneth, wrapping her in muscular arms, arms that could cause such destruction, and yet hold the elf as though she were the most precious thing in the world. "I am grateful you gave us this time. And if it is to be our _only_ time, then I would waste none of it worrying of what tomorrow shall bring."

Zanneth blinked. _This_. _This_ was the essence of the warrior, both the archetypal figure of legends, and this one woman she held in the circle of her arms. To do what must be done, and to eke out what joy was available in the time allotted them. Too long had Zanneth been patient, too long had she waited to see what would happen. Tonight, and going forward, she would do her best to embody this trait in this woman she loved, to do what must be done, but also to find the joy available and take it, spread it, to not let another day go by with her as a mere spectator.

Threading her fingers through Cassandra's hair, she kissed her warrior, this woman who had given herself mind, body, and soul to a scrappy little Dalish elf with the mark – supposedly of some deity – on her hand.

With the glow of the mark bathing the room, Zanneth made love to her warrior until the dawn, not letting another moment go by without her presence within it.


	40. In Your Heart Shall Burn

_A/N: Holy fuckballs I'm here I swear! I hadn't intended on going almost all of November without updating. But I've done some good writing on my novel, and now, I've started this awesome quest/mission! I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

A faint knock roused Cassandra from her sleep. Her cabin was filled with light.

"I slept past sunrise…" It was the first time she had done so in _years_.

"Hmm?"

Cassandra smiled. Nuzzled in her arms, legs entwined with her own, was a _very_ naked Dalish elf. The only part of Zanneth visible at the moment was white hair and the tips of her ears. The rest was either nuzzled into Cassandra or buried under the blankets.

"Someone is at the door," the warrior said, pulling away reluctantly. "We have slept late. We must get up."

"But… sleep…"

Cassandra smiled again, her heart panging when small, strong hands held firmly around her even as she kept pulling away. "I must answer the door, Zanneth."

The elf released a frustrated sound, but relented, withdrawing her grip. She made no move to get out of bed _herself_, however. Instead, she cocooned herself in the blankets, large eyes peeking out at the Seeker.

Shaking her head, unable to keep the dopey grin from her lips, Cassandra found her shirt and trousers from the night before, pulling them on. Another knock sounded just as she became presentable enough to answer it.

Opening the door, she found Leliana, perfectly dressed and armed for battle, standing outside. The spymaster took in Cassandra's appearance, her tousled hair, the flush creeping up her face, and smirked. Leaning over and peering around Cassandra, Leliana took in Zanneth, just visible from that angle. Righting herself, Leliana grinned.

"Good," she said, nodding, then turned, walking away without another word.

Bemused, Cassandra shut the door. She turned to find Zanneth staring at her. "That was Sister Leliana?" the elf asked.

Cassandra nodded, walking back over to the bed and seating herself upon its edge. "Yes. I get the feeling something is going on I don't know about. Why was she looking for you?"

Zanneth's face fully emerged from the blankets. "She is devious."

"What does that mean?"

"She engineered this." Zanneth sat up, letting the blankets fall from her shoulders.

Cassandra reached out, running her fingers across the elf's shoulders, hooking her hand on the far one and pulling her lover into her lap. Smiling at the small yelp this produced, she wrapped her arms around Zanneth's waist, pressing a small kiss to one tattoo-enshrouded shoulder before resting her cheek there. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that it is _she_ who encouraged me to say something to you last night, before we go to close the Breach. I had planned to say something soon – I began carving that knife's handle weeks ago – but it was her words that pushed me to choose the moment I did." Cassandra felt a kiss pressed to the forehead. "Is… is that all right? That it was not entirely of my own volition?"

Cassandra chuckled. "Given how I have you naked in my arms… I can't really complain about how that came to be."

A flush immediately spread up Zanneth's chest, up her throat, and onto her cheeks. Lifting her face, Cassandra saw that it continued on right to the tips of her ears. _This will not last long_, she thought, pulling the elf down for a kiss. _She will become more accustomed to this intimacy, and it will no longer make her blush._ She tightened her grip, ending the kiss and merely holding Zanneth close. _I shall merely have to find new and different ways to make her skin flush so. It is too delightful not to cherish from time to time._

After a moment, however, she pulled away. "As much as I will instantly regret this… we must get moving. The sooner we are about our task, the sooner we can return to _this_."

Zanneth sighed. "I suppose you're right. But…" She snaked her arms around Cassandra's neck, burying her fingers in the warrior's hair, sending shivers up and down her spine. "One more?"

Cassandra growled her approval, capturing the elf's lips with her own. It was more than just one more kiss, one embrace. Zanneth moved to straddle her lap, exposing her sex to the open air. Cassandra could _smell_ her, and it wasn't very long before she sought that delicate place out with her hands.

She was entirely entranced by moving inside of the elf. The folds, slick with arousal, led her inside, where Zanneth's inner muscles clung to her for dear life. They quickly found a rhythm, the Herald of Andraste gasping into their kisses, raking her nails down Cassandra's scalp, and moving her hips in time with the warrior's hand.

She came apart with a small cry, and when she collapsed into Cassandra's arms, she immediately began laughing.

"Oh, you are more than I ever could have hoped for, Cassandra," she sighed, nuzzling into the Seeker's throat. "I didn't know I could love like this."

Heaving up, Cassandra laid the elf down on her back, lying alongside her. Resting her head on her hand, she looked down upon her lover. "Have you not loved like this before?" It was perhaps not the best time, but she was intrigued, and now that they had come together, she had questions. "You were engaged to be married not so long ago."

Zanneth's white brows furrowed. "I… didn't love Sinna. Not truly. I thought I _could_ love him, in time. But I agreed to marry for the good of the clan. It was expected of me." She looked into Cassandra's eyes. "Why ask about this now, _ma vhenan_?"

Cassandra's cheeks flushed with shame. "Forgive me. I have the worst timing…"

"But something is obviously bothering you. Out with it. I would go to the Breach with nothing standing between us."

Cassandra sighed, laying her head down on the elf's shoulder. "I see you watch the children and their parents, especially the fathers. You had such yearning in your eyes…"

"Cassandra, sometimes you can be very stupid."

Taken aback, Cassandra lifted her head to see Zanneth wink at her. She sobered as she looked away, and Cassandra lay her head back down. "I watch them and regret that Sinna is no longer living. I regret he cannot be a father. He would have been a wonderful father. I watch them, and I think of my brother, who had not even known the touch of a woman. They were both good men. Just because I did not return Sinna's affection does not mean he was not a good man. He didn't deserve what happened to him. I wish…"

After a moment of silence, Cassandra trailed her hand up over the elf's navel, gently prompting her. "You wish what, dear one?"

"I wish I could _remember_," Zanneth said, making a frustrated noise. "But that is not what we were talking about. We spoke of love. And _you_, dear Cassandra, have opened a well of passion within me I did not know I possessed. I see, now, that I did not love Sinna how he deserved, and I regret that I could not. But I am _glad_ that I gave him what I could of myself. If he was to die… I am _glad_ he could die knowing the comfort of a woman's touch. And if I was the one he loved, then I am glad it was me."

Cassandra was quiet a while, processing what she had heard. It was a comfort that, as she spoke of such difficult things, Zanneth could merely hold Cassandra, tracing a pattern over her arm or capturing her hand and intertwining their fingers. Zanneth did not pull away for a difficult conversation.

Finally, the Seeker spoke. "The morning of the Conclave, I saw my first and only lover for the first time in years. We had parted amicably, with the expectation that we would find others to be our companions. Still, it pained me to see him with his new lover, and I without. But now… it is as you say. If he had to die, I am glad it could be with his love, knowing her companionship and her comfort, and giving it in return. I mourn him still. He will always have a place in my heart, for he was the first to cool the raging fire within. But I did not love him like this, Zanneth." She looked up, seeing the elf looking down at her. "I did not know I could love quite like this."

They kissed, long and slow, the Seeker covering the elf's body with her own. In a few minutes, they would absolutely need to get up and start the day. But for now, Cassandra could only kiss and hold her lover, letting a realization sweep over her. _You were not only what we needed for the Inquisition. You were also what __**I**__ needed, in order to love again._

* * *

Zanneth was nervous. The Breach loomed high above her, crackling and shifting like a living thing. It had been a very long time since she had seen it up close. So much had happened. She had nearly perished. She had made friends. She had miscarried. She had traveled forward in _time_.

And now… she had Cassandra.

Her cheeks flushed at the very thought. The Seeker was not currently at her side. Instead, she was a ways away, talking with Leliana, Josephine, Revka, and Cullen. Zanneth watched her profile, admiring the way she carried her armor, so easily, like it was a second skin. She remembered how Cassandra looked without all that armor, in just tunic and trousers: just as confident, just as strong and capable. But there was tenderness beneath, an empathy with those around her, and a willingness to smile at a jest.

And without any of it on? Zanneth was nearly overwhelmed in her memories. Cassandra was soft, yet strong, warm and solid and tender all at once. She defied all descriptors of the feminine, and yet was not manly in any way. She rose above all of it and merely _threw_ herself into whatever moment was happening. If it was battle, then Cassandra was _all_ there. And if it was lovemaking? Zanneth had never felt someone focus so squarely on her and what she needed, what she wanted, before in her life. She accepted Zanneth's touch, as well, but when they made love… Cassandra had eyes only for the Herald.

"Are you cold, Your Worship?"

Zanneth shook herself of her thoughts, turning the other direction to see that Solona, the Hero of Ferelden, had silently joined her.

"Am I… cold?"

The Hero smirked. "Well, your cheeks are so rosy. Is there some other reason your skin would flush so?"

Zanneth felt her flush immediately spread, creeping up into her scalp and heating her ears all the way to the tips. "I… Um…"

"Relax, relax." Solona grinned. "I couldn't help but to tease a little bit. I think it's wonderful. Maybe Cassandra will be some manner of _pleasant_ from here on out. I always did think she needed to rut with someone a whole lot more than she ever did."

Zanneth bristled. "If you think so little of her-"

"I'm sorry. Please. I don't mean it like that. I just… Cassandra and I have that sort of relationship, yes? She's obnoxiously right far too often, and can rarely take a joke. We just… grate on each other. Not everyone gets along perfectly. Cassandra finds my need to jest distasteful, and I think she could stand to lighten up. Life is too short to take everything so seriously. The fact that we're both right just pisses the other off."

Zanneth considered the mage for a moment. Perhaps she was right. Cassandra could be… severe. She was all business. The very thing that had her so focused would likely make her find Solona's jokes to be a distraction from whatever needed to be done. And yet this was the Hero of Ferelden. Obviously, Solona could do what needed doing, as well.

Such different personalities, yet both so capable of so much.

"What's this about taking life less seriously? Because I couldn't agree more."

The Iron Bull sidled up in front of them. Solona looked up into his face. Honestly, the human was so tall, Bull was likely one of the few she had to look _up_ in order to meet his gaze.

"So you're the Hero of Ferelden," Bull said, looking Solona up and down. "You don't look like much."

Zanneth's heart fell into her stomach at that. Such an insult! But to her surprise, Solona merely snorted a laugh.

"What is it with qunari not thinking I look like much?"

Bull's ears turned down with his brows. "Eh?"

"I had a qunari Sten travel with me during the Blight. His assessment of me when we first met was similar to yours."

Bull chuckled. "Oh?"

"Yes." Solona nodded, her lips splitting into a grin. "I believe his exact words were, 'I see not every legend is as it is told.'" Her voice got low and slow with her last words.

The Iron Bull chuckled again. "Sounds right. So. Was the legend actually as it's told?"

"I wouldn't know. The archdemon is gone, so I suppose there's that." Her eyes turned down for a moment, but _only _a moment, before the expression passed and the tattooed mage looked back up into Bull's face. "I'm more than one legend, though. Do you have tales of arcane warriors among your people?"

"My people don't have much to say about magic, and none of it is nice."

"I know," Solona said with a nod. "Let's agree just not to talk about it, and get rip-roaring drunk when this is all over instead. Yeah?"

Bull grinned. "You've got a deal." He turned his one eye to Zanneth. "I like this one, Boss. She can stay."

Zanneth blinked up at him a few times. "Boss?"

Bull just chuckled, clapping her _hard_ on the shoulder a few times. A shifting of gravel caught Zanneth's attention, and she turned toward the sound. Coming toward them was one of the massive dogs always at Leliana's side.

Zanneth's diverted attention alerted both Bull and Solona. "Damn, your hearing's even better than mine," Bull murmured. Solona didn't seem to hear. Instead, she knelt, extending her arms. The dog walked right into them, yipping like a puppy.

"That's right, Max. I didn't go anywhere," the human cooed, allowing the dog to roll over onto his back and giving his belly a vigorous rub.

"Some loyal dog. You turn up and he just lets you touch him," Bull huffed. "I thought these things only answered to one master?"

Solona looked up grinning. "You thought his master is Leliana? No. She is… Sten once described it as protecting his _kadan's_ mate. I asked him to keep an eye on her before I left, and he took his directive seriously. He continues to stay at her side because _I_ do."

"Wait, wait, wait. How did _you_ go from Sten saying you didn't look like much to being his _kadan_?!"

Solona stood, the dog also finding his feet. "His sword was stolen. I found it."

Bull's whole demeanor changed.

Zanneth had finally had enough of being in the dark. "His sword?"

"His _Asala_," Bull murmured, his face open and incredulous as he stared down at Solona. "A Sten's blade is his soul. To lose it, and then have it _returned_?" Bull seemed to have a new respect for the mage in front of him. "You truly are more than meets the eye, Hero."

Solona, for her part, merely clucked her tongue. "Enough with the title. I am Solona. You are Iron Bull, yes? Let us just go by our names, all right? I'm sick of the pomp and circumstance."

"And before me stand two heroes with all the modesty of the world within them." Bull grinned. "You would do well in the Qun."

Zanneth could only blink at the statement, but Solona once again snorted. "If we're counting by modesty, then I have the feeling you make a terrible follower of the Qun. But enough compliments. Drinks. To celebrate. Yes?"

Bull smirked. "Let's see if you can keep up, little girl." Then he turned and walked away.

"Little girl?" Solona turned to Zanneth. "He is possibly the only person who has called me that. I was mistaken for a _man_ before anyone ever called me 'little girl.'"

"A man?" Zanneth asked, intrigued.

"It's… a long story. Involving Revka and the first boy she was ever betrothed to, and… well, I'll tell it to you sometime. That isn't now. Look. Your lover approaches."

Zanneth immediately spun to see Cassandra was indeed approaching, all the others on her heels. The elf couldn't help but to smile. _This must be what is meant by lovestruck. I indeed feel as though something has hit me_.

"For all I tease, Zanneth," Solona murmured, nudging her shoulder, "your love is beautiful. I do not know the details, but I have a sense about people. You have had _deep_ pain, many trials, and in a very short time. So has Cassandra, though much of it was many years ago. It is wonderful you can bring each other some comfort. I hope after the Breach is closed that you may continue to learn each other."

Then, Solona was gone, walking to meet Leliana. Zanneth watched as the Spymaster stopped, waiting for the arcane warrior's approach. They did not embrace, but neither did Leliana seem quite so distant as she always had. She seemed… _warmer_, somehow. It had been a gradual change, and Zanneth had not noticed it, but when she compared the Leliana before her – smiling and approachable – to the Leliana she had spoken with the day before leaving for Redcliffe… the Herald was presented with a very different woman. She did the same things, and spoke with the same professional detachment in the war room, but outside of that, Leliana had opened up.

Life truly must have been unbearable without her lover.

"Zanneth, it is time."

Zanneth's eyes snapped back to Cassandra, who was now upon her. She nodded, turned, and began walking.

She stopped when she met Fiona. With her stood Solas, Dorian, and Vivienne. _Funny. None of them seem to get along, except Fiona and Dorian. And yet here they are, standing together to close the Breach._ As Zanneth came to a stop, Solona marched past her, going to speak with Fiona.

"You have briefed them all? They have all done this before?"

Fiona nodded. "Yes."

"What of the children who volunteered?"

"Dorian and I worked with them ourselves. They can all do this, Solona."

The arcane warrior nodded. "I only wish that I could help."

"You will help when it is over, Solona. There could be all manner of injured."

Solona nodded, turning and looking up at the Breach.

"Why… why can't she help? Isn't she the most powerful here?" Zanneth asked, looking to Cassandra.

"As I understand it," the Seeker said, "she draws her power directly from the Fade. She does not know how the Breach will interact with that, and it is unsafe to find out _now_. Perhaps drawing power through the Veil when it is so broken would cause another explosion? Perhaps the power cannot be used to close the Breach? We simply do not know, and experimentation could make things worse." She placed a hand on Zanneth's shoulder. "There are enough mages here. They will channel their power to you. Solona will be here to help heal anyone who might be hurt."

Cassandra's touch soothed the Herald. The elf nodded. "Whatever happens," she whispered, looking up into Cassandra's face, "I love you."

The warrior's face grew solemn. "And I you, _emma lath_."

Her heart soared at the words. Ignoring all those around them, Zanneth turned and threw her arms around Cassandra's neck, pulling her down into a fierce kiss. The warrior, for her part, gripped tightly to the elf's hips, holding them close together. Then Zanneth pushed herself away, almost roughly, turned, and dropped down to the blast site.

It seemed utterly silent down here, and yet the sounds from the Breach were deafening. It crackled, sparking and buzzing all around her. The sound seemed to vibrate within her. Her hand sparked and sizzled, sending shooting pains up to her shoulder in time with the giant rift above her. It was so painful that it made her feel as though her arm would fall off. The noise was cacophonous to her sensitive ears.

And yet it was all she could hear. Silence pounded against her in time with the noise, thudding and pulsing like something alive. Green light bathed her, sickening and terrifying. The Breach was just so _big_.

But her hand was begging to make contact. As she lifted her left arm, Zanneth was vaguely aware of two hands gripping tightly to her shoulder – Dorian and Fiona. They would help direct the power from all the other mages, as Zanneth was not herself a mage and did not know how to open herself up to the power offered. So she let them touch her as she raised her arm, her hand crackling and sparking like a brand new flame leaping to the new, dry wood in the firepit.

When her hand was nearly as high as she could raise it, a single green thread seemed to leap from it. It latched on to the Breach, high above, and seemed to _sing_. Zanneth felt herself pulled up, her toes leaving the ground. The thread grew, thickening. Fiona and Dorian held fast, keeping the Herald from flying away.

Pain continued to shoot up her arm. Usually it stopped by now. It was becoming excruciating, fire lancing through her whole body in steady pulses. It took a moment for Zanneth to realize that the pain originated at the hands on her shoulders. _Magic is not natural to me. This is what it feels like for a non-mage to channel this power_.

Her lips peeled back in a scream just before the Breach high above gave an answering bellow. Green light exploded outward, throwing her, Fiona, and Dorian to the ground. Her head hit the rocks. Pain exploded behind her eyes. Her left arm was afire. Her shoulders seized. She couldn't move.

Did it work? Was the Breach sealed? Would her aching head ever stop pounding? Blackness overtook her the moment she tried to move, carrying her off into a warm, soft place she never wished to leave.


	41. The Breach Is Sealed

The Breach exploded outward with a deafening _crack_. It seemed to reach into Cassandra's lungs and suck her air right out of her. Or perhaps that happened when she hit the ground, knocking the wind out of her? It felt different. But it lasted only a moment before she was once again able to draw breath.

The warrior had had the wind knocked out of her often enough to know just how to fight through it. Forcing deep breaths, trying desperately to fight the urge to cough, Cassandra struggled to her feet. She was doing better than others. She had decided to use a shield and sword this time, as the last time she was here, the demon they had faced had been so massive that she needed defense as much as offense. The shield had been strapped to her back, and when she was thrown off her feet, it did what it was made for, shielding her body from its impact with the ground. Those upon the ground around her were still struggling for breath.

Reaching down, she helped Sera to her feet. "Breathe through it," she said, holding the slight elf's hazel eyes. "Take the deepest breaths you can. It should ease quickly." Sera, eyes large in the morning light, nodded. She was barely sipping air, but at Cassandra's direction, she was soon breathing normally.

"Thanks," she huffed. "Never had tha' happen before. Usually too quick on my feet, right?"

Cassandra nodded. "Yes. But no one escapes an explosion. Help the others." The Seeker looked up. "I must find the Herald."

"Right. She was in th' middle of it, yeah? Go get your love, Seeker."

Cassandra started, her eyes snapping back down to Sera. "What?"

"What, ya think nobody knows? The way ya look at her…Not t'mention she snogged you good righ' before closin' th' Breach, yeah? Either you love her, or yer loony, or _she's_ loony. Not much of a diff'rence, but still. The truth, innit? Yer loony fer th' Herald."

Cassandra scowled down at the elf. "We do not have time. Go help the others."

"Righ'." Sera scampered off, leaving Cassandra feeling more than a little off-balance. Pushing whatever it was she was feeling aside, the Seeker scanned the blast site. She was the Herald of Andraste's lover. There was no way that was going to stay private. The sooner she accepted that, the better.

There, directly underneath where the Breach had been – it did indeed seem to be gone, though a ghostly green glow remained – lay three limp forms: Fiona, Dorian, and Zanneth. None of them moved.

"Zanneth!"

Cassandra stumbled forward, still a little shaky on her feet. Dropping to her knees, she rolled Zanneth onto her back.

To find the elf's eyes blessedly open.

"Did it work? Did we do it?"

Cassandra's relief was almost palpable. She let out a quivering laugh, shaking her head. "Yes, dear one. Yes. It is done. _You_ did it." She cupped the elf's cheek. "Are you all right?"

"I think so." Zanneth sounded like she needed a cool drink of water, but that was to be expected. She had just sealed a giant tear through the Fade. It would tire anyone out. "I blacked out, but I think it was only for a moment."

Cassandra never got a chance to respond, despite how her heart fell into her gut at Zanneth's words. "Where is she? Where's the Herald?"

Cassandra looked up to see The Iron Bull looming above her.

"I'm here, Bull." Zanneth tried to push herself into a sit. Cassandra reached around her to help.

"I got a set of shoulders you need to be on, Boss. They need to see you victorious. C'mon."

Cassandra helped Zanneth to her feet, and then Bull knelt in front of her. A few moments later, he was standing, Zanneth on his shoulders, steadying herself by holding tightly to his great horns. The fact she was able to do so meant she must, indeed, be unharmed.

A cheer rose up all around. Cassandra turned on her heel, taking it all in. Elves and humans alike cheered for the Herald of Andraste, throwing fists into the air, shouts of joy and triumph falling from their lips. Mages and non-mages, too, cheered together. Many embraced. The mages congratulated each other. Parents spun children around in their arms. Lovers kissed.

Such joy, all around.

"You see that, Boss? You did that." Bull's voice rumbled next to the Seeker, directed at Zanneth. "That's for you. You're their leader. You saved them. They helped, but you closed the Breach!" He laughed, jostling the elf some. "So how are you going to celebrate?"

Cassandra looked up in time to catch Zanneth's dark brown eyes on her.

"Bed," the elf said, smiling. Cassandra felt her cheeks heat. "Definitely at least a light nap."

Bull laughed. "A drink first, Boss! Then you can rest. You've _fucking_ earned it."

Cassandra nearly choked at his choice of words, but the giant qunari was oblivious, stepping away and parading Zanneth around. The Seeker let him. They had succeeded. Zanneth was blessedly okay. Right now, she was the Herald of Andraste and belonged to everyone, to cheer and celebrate and congratulate. Later, she would be Zanneth, and Cassandra would have her all to herself. Later, Cassandra could take the elf's burdens away from her for a little while. She could wait.

They had done it. The Breach was closed. They finally had _time_.

* * *

The minstrel played a joyous song. People laughed and danced, drinking and eating and celebrating the closure of the Breach. Zanneth, however, was largely spared having to participate. She was sore all over, and slightly short of breath still. Solona had assured her there was no lasting damage, but she still did not feel up to such boisterous revelry. Instead, she watched from a short distance, visible to all but away from the main group, leaning against the battlements.

Around a large bonfire, Solona and Iron Bull were getting steadily drunker. So far, the mage was matching Bull drink for drink, despite being half his bulk. She was far more visibly drunk than he, however, so Zanneth did not think the human would be able to keep it up for long. Already Bull was helping to support her, even as they continued to drink and sing sloppily along with the minstrel.

A crunching of gravel got Zanneth's attention before Leliana's voice came to her. "I love that woman, but she can be such a _child_."

Zanneth turned to see that Cassandra had walked up alongside Leliana. The elf grinned. "I'm convinced it's strategic."

Cassandra's face opened in surprise. "Oh?"

"Yes," she said with a nod. "Bull is so big, it behooves anyone to become his friend. Experience tells me that drinking with him is a surefire way to achieve that."

Cassandra chuckled, and Leliana giggled. Such different women, yet both so similar in so many ways.

Solona nearly fell in the distance, causing Leliana to cluck her tongue. "Oh, dear, I should go stop her. This is really getting ridiculous. I shall take my leave, and bid you both good night." Her lips pulled back in a mischievous grin. "Don't stay up _too_ late, you two."

Zanneth's face heated at the insinuation, but Leliana did not see, for the spymaster was gone almost immediately.

"She is so proud of herself," Cassandra said, shaking her head. "As if this is something she orchestrated all on her own." They both watched as Bull surrendered Solona over to Leliana, and the redhead supported the giant human off in the direction of their cabin, both mabari following behind.

Zanneth chuckled, turning to her new lover. Reaching out, she took Cassandra's hand. Despite the chill to the evening air, they were ungloved, her callused palm sliding over Zanneth's with nothing between them. A small tug had Cassandra pressed against her, and she luxuriated in the feeling of being swallowed up in the human's embrace.

"Each of the senior mages confirms the same: the heavens are scarred but calm. The Breach is indeed sealed. I would imagine there are lingering rifts like those in the Hinterlands, and many questions remain, but this…this was such a victory, Zanneth. Word of your heroism will spread."

Zanneth pulled away, looking up into her lover's face. "They ought to know I fell into this, quite literally."

True to herself, Cassandra did not even smile at the jest, merely holding Zanneth's gaze solemnly. "Perhaps you are too close to judge, but we needed you. We still do. We've yet to discover how the Breach came to be, and that is only the most conspicuous of our troubles."

Zanneth blinked up into Cassandra's eyes. She understood the words, and believed that _Cassandra _believed them, even if Zanneth did not believe she was sent by the humans' Maker. But she did not wish to be the Herald of Andraste right now. She just wanted to be herself: one of the People, far from home and yet having found love, despite all that had happened to her. "And you, _emma lath_? Do you need me? Not as your Herald, but… just me. For just you?"

Now, Cassandra smiled. "Yes, Zanneth. I continue to need you, if you will have me. If there comes a day you won't, then I will let you go, but… until that day, it will be very difficult to tear me from your side." She paused, cupping Zanneth's cheek, drawing the elf near again and pressing lips to forehead. "They will say one of two things about me when the tales of the Breach are told. That I stood at the Herald's side, her protector and her lover, and that it was meant to be. Or they will say the Right Hand of two Divines was led from the path of faith by the wiles of a Dalish heathen."

Zanneth's heart kicked. "Which do you believe?"

Strong arms tightened about her waist. "I believe that you were sent to us when we most needed you, and that the Maker sent you to _me_, as well. I believe we were put in each other's paths for a reason. The tales may say nothing of the sort, but still I know it to be true."

Zanneth leaned her head back just enough to see Cassandra's eyes in the light of the sunset. "Then it does not matter what they say, Cassandra. It matters only that we feel similarly. For I, too, believe that we were drawn to each other for some purpose, even if we cannot divine it, mere mortals that we are."

Cassandra closed the distance between them, nearly drowning Zanneth with the passion of her kiss. Several moments later, panting and holding tightly to her, the Seeker whispered into the scant space between them. "Come, take me to bed, dear one. The Inquisition has had enough of you. I would have you to myself for some small measure of this night of victory."

Heart kicking in her chest, Zanneth nodded, pulled away, and led Cassandra by the hand into the growing darkness.

* * *

Revka lay naked, tucked into the crook of Cullen's arm, tracing patterns absently into the light hair upon his chest. Outside, the sun had set, but the Inquisition celebrated. She could hear the raucous laughter, the cheers, and the singing. She could see the glow of the many fires flickering upon the curtains. It must be a _very_ good party.

But inside, it was quiet, and warm, and everything was so soft against her. The sheets, the air, Cullen's very skin; all had Revka delighting in the evening of lovemaking they were celebrating with.

Cullen had only been back for two days. Nearly a month gone had done him no favors. He had told Revka early in their courtship that the lyrium withdrawal was immediate and terrible, but it was the adjustment to normal life _after_ coming off of the withdrawal period that killed templars who had attempted, in the past, to go without. When she had come to this cabin that first night; when she had stripped herself, pushed him onto his bed, and had her way with him; when he had helped her reach climax _three times_; he had told her that he felt better than he had in months, since the last day he had taken lyrium.

Revka had been flattered, of course, but she hadn't quite known what he meant. Not until she asked him after she had confessed her love for him.

"_Taking lyrium when you aren't a mage is like taking a drug," Cullen explains, showing her the case with the vial of lyrium. "Mages have lyrium in their blood naturally. They can replenish it, but it does not affect them like it does templars. They do not become addicted: for them, it is like replenishing energy. Resting or sleeping would also replenish their magical energies. This just does it faster for them._

"_We do not have it naturally, and when we take this… it's euphoric. You feel as though you can do anything. You have the confidence to do anything. The spells you learn come easier, you can concentrate better, and you just __**feel**_ _so much better than you ever have before. Until it starts to wear off, about a day after you take it. You would do anything to feel that again. The Chantry has the vial that will make you feel good enough. The lyrium makes you a better templar, and the Chantry holds the supply. So the Chantry makes you a better templar, supplying your dependence upon them."_

"_That sounds like a vicious cycle of manipulation," Revka murmurs, running her fingertips over the glass containing the faintly glowing substance. _

"_It is. But it is also effective in keeping those who take that feeling of euphoria too far, causing damage with their heightened sense of self. Withdrawal is sometimes used as a punishment: step out of line – kiss a mage or perhaps threaten one of your charges – and you are denied your lyrium for a week. All it takes is once. It's too awful to endure again."_

"_What is it like?" Revka turns to look Cullen in the eye. "Tell me what you went through when you stopped taking this."_

_He tries to look away, but Revka has none of it, taking his chin in her hand and forcing him to look her in the eye._

"_Sweats and chills, hunger pangs that don't go away, loss of control for the latrine. Worst is the feeling of not being good enough, though. It descends upon you like a hundred thousand biting gnats, eating away at your confidence. You're sure you'll never feel good again. Food loses its taste, your friends aren't as funny as they were, and even the memories of your family are pale and thin. Your future looks so bleak, you're sure it's not worth living long enough to verify. I think the only reason I survived the withdrawal is because I __**knew**_ _I was leaving the worst moment of my life for something better. I had purpose._

"_And… I had the Seeker there to get me out of my own head." He looks away, and this time Revka allows him to do so. "After the initial withdrawal, all of those things get better except one. I still didn't feel good or confident. You never experience that euphoria again once you withdraw from lyrium. But you remember what it was like. At every single moment, you remember that this tiny vial could make you feel good again. It could make you feel __**whole **__again. You could do anything while taking it. It's enough to drive a person insane."_

_Revka's heart pounds. She trails her hand down Cullen's chest before wrapping it around his waist, pulling him close to her. "It sounds like agony, Cullen."_

"_It __**is**_ _agony."_

"_So… why do you keep this vial here? Would not the temptation be more than any person could overcome?"_

_Cullen sighs, pushing her gently away so that he might lift the box with its single vial of lyrium and look at it. His face shows only determination. "This was to be my dose the day I left. I only must never take __**the next**_ _draught. Staring down the rest of time is too difficult, but __**this**_ _is an easier promise to make. I must only not have the next one. And if I ever do relapse… well, I've seen what it can do to a person. There was a man in Kirkwall who had been a templar. He had helped a mage and another templar escape, as lovers, and his punishment wasn't so clean as death. Meredith threw him out on the street. He became a begging husk of a man, doing anything and everything he could for a taste of lyrium. Some of the things he did, on his knees, so that a smuggler would give him a vial…"_

_Cullen shuddered. "I will not become like Samson. I will __**never**_ _become like Samson. The poor sod."_

Revka had only told Cullen days before that she loved him, and now here they lay, naked and happy and married, with their child growing steadily in her womb. She also now knew why their time together helped him so much. It wasn't that the withdrawals continued after the first few weeks. It was that Revka – her body, but also her _love_ – made him feel _good_ again. Sex made him feel good and produced that euphoria, yes. But more than that, because he loved Revka and had hope for his days with the Inquisition – and now their family – he quite literally had reasons to live. He had things outside himself that gave him purpose and made him happy.

He did not have those things as a member of the Templar Order. His entire life had been the Chantry, the Order, and the minding of mages. Here, now… he had so much more. He still missed the lyrium. It was still a struggle. But these things made the struggle bearable. And that made all the difference.

And if Revka could help him by allowing him to bury his face between her legs the moment they saw each other again? Well. It was a sacrifice she was more than willing to make.

"What are you thinking, love?" Cullen murmured.

Revka smiled, nuzzling further into his chest. "I'm just happy to have you back. You were gone for so long. Are you feeling any better than when you arrived?"

"Much," he said, smiling down at her. Shifting slightly, he lay on his side, keeping her tucked into his shoulder. "I appreciate your understanding. Sometimes I feel as though it is unfair, that I am using you somehow. But it is more than your body that I crave, more than the feeling I get when we are together. You make me feel good, yes, but I also… come alive when you are around. I see the hope for our future, and my purpose in the Inquisition is renewed. While I was in Redcliffe… it was harder to see that."

"Not least because you had to keep on that foul man who caused all this heartache," Revka said, thinking of Alexius. The Tevinter Magister had been left alive, so that he might be tried and executed publicly. In order to keep him from wreaking havoc, Cullen had organized an hourly rotation of former templars to perform the necessary magic-draining spells on the man. It was taxing, to say the least. Now that they were back in Haven, it would be easier. And now that the Breach was sealed, the need for such measures would soon be over.

"Yes. That didn't help, it's true. At any rate, I am delighted to be back, Revka. Our family literally grows larger by the day, and… well, I'm starting to get excited. A little boy or girl to hold and laugh with and teach things to. Imagine it?"

"I do, my dear," Revka said, cupping the commander's cheek. "Nearly every moment of every day, I picture what it will be like to have our little one here, with us. And now that the Breach is sealed, I need not worry so much for our family's safety."

Before Revka could respond, a great _boom_ sounded, felt more than heard.

"What was that?" Cullen said, his grip around her shoulders tightening.

Revka pushed away from her husband, rolling out of bed and running to the window. With a lack of modesty to compete with her sister – notorious for running wherever she was needed completely naked – Revka tossed the curtains aside, looking out upon the village.

A line of warm, orange light snaked through the trees in the distance. "Is this some sort of magic?" she breathed.

Cullen, looking out the window behind her, answered gruffly. "Shit!"

Revka turned. "What? What is it, Cullen?"

"Those are torches," he said, pulling on his trousers. "I have to get outside. We must sound the alarm."

"I don't understand, Cullen! What's happening?"

Cullen paused, fixing his gaze squarely on Revka's. "That is an invading force, Revka. Haven is under attack."


	42. The Scouring of Haven

_A/N: So. I posted this to facebook. But. My computer is intermittently on the fritz. I have apparently worn the keyboard out. By writing. All day. Every day. Oops. So I'm going to try to make this one limp along (it's working perfectly right now, but Tuesday night several keys just wouldn't respond) until after the new year. So hopefully there won't be too huge a delay in any updates._

_That said, I finally bought Tomb Raider and The Witcher. I already beat Tomb Raider. I played it **all day**. So we'll see how much writing I actually get done with all these games to play._

_Onward! And yes, my title is an homage to LOTR and the Scouring of the Shire!_

* * *

The alarm bells rang. Zanneth and Cassandra both struggled with their trousers, rushing around the elf's cabin looking for clothing and weapons.

"What's happening?"

"I don't know," Cassandra answered, her voice muffled through her shirt. "The alarm could be rung for a number of reasons, all of which require our presence."

Zanneth nodded, though she knew Cassandra did not see it. Pulling on her mother's hunting jacket, she grabbed her bow and quiver before running to the door. Cassandra was a step behind her, a sword, the knife Zanneth had given her, and the dagger of the Right Hand at her hip. Pulling open the door, they rushed through it.

Only to jolt to a halt. Snaking down through the hills were many lines of torches: an invading force, aimed for Haven.

Cassandra pulled her sword. "We must get to the gates!" she cried, running forward without looking back.

She didn't need to. Zanneth was right on her heels.

As she ran, Zanneth took in her surroundings. Haven was utter pandemonium. Bonfires blazed unattended. Drunk celebrants attempted to slap some sense into themselves. Soldiers ran back and forth, some pulling drunken comrades to safety, others relaying news. Bull roared orders to his Chargers. Cullen, too, shouted to men and women up on the scaffolding.

Zanneth literally had to skid in order to slow down, or she would hit those in front of the gates. Standing there was Cullen, Revka, Josephine, Ser Cauthrien, and now, herself and Cassandra.

"Cullen!" Cassandra cried, getting his attention as they approached.

"One watch-guard reports – it's a massive force. You see those snaking torches? The bulk of the army is still over the mountain."

"Under what banner?" Josephine asked.

Cullen shook his head. "None."

"None?!" The ambassador was incredulous. "Surely a force attacking the Inquisition would wish us to know who they were?"

"It stalls us," Cauthrien said, reaching for Josephine's shoulder. "We spend time questioning instead of preparing. It matters not who it is. We must defend Haven!"

"What's going on?!"

Zanneth whirled on one heel to see Leliana and Solona fast approaching. Miraculously, Solona looked to have sobered up. But, like everyone else in this group, each wore a minimum of clothing. Clearly, all leaders of the Inquisition had been busy seeing to the needs of their lovers as the alarm had sounded.

Cullen repeated himself, and as he did so, Solona's hands began a translation for Leliana.

"_Merde_," Leliana said, narrowing her eyes. "I must report in with my agents. Send a messenger with instructions once you have them!" She turned to leave.

Solona was just reaching out to stop her when a loud _bang_ sounded upon the gates, right next to them.

Everybody jumped back.

"I can't come in unless you open!"

The voice was a man's. He sounded young – his voice was high – and frantic.

"Someone is outside!" Zanneth cried, running forward to the guards. "Let him in!"

"Zanneth, no, it could be a trap!" Cassandra shouted, lunging for the elf, but Zanneth dodged. Why was she not listening to Cassandra? Of course, the warrior was right, but still, Zanneth went for the bar over the gates and heaved, sliding it out of one of its slots.

She looked out as soon as the gate was open enough to see. Looming before her was a huge brute, clad from head to toe in wicked, pointed armor and bearing a large, two-handed axe.

"Zanneth!" Cassandra cried, shoving the elf aside and pulling her single sword. "Face me!" the warrior shouted at the brute, but as Zanneth watched, the man stopped, then fell forward upon his face. In his place stood… a boy? A man? His pale face was shrouded by locks of blonde hair, but his body was wire-tight, full of frenetic energy. He stood one with a single finger wavering in the air, as if he had touched the now-dead brute.

"No closer, stranger!" Cassandra demanded, holding her sword out to him. Zanneth, now back on her feet, approached from behind her lover. She stayed just at the human's shoulder.

"Who are you?" she asked. He was compelling. She wanted to get closer. To touch. It was important that he come inside the gates.

"I'm Cole. I came to warn you. People are coming to hurt you." Somehow, Zanneth knew he was speaking to _her_. "You… probably already know."

"What is this?" Cassandra demanded, lowering her sword, but holding an arm out to keep Zanneth from approaching the stranger. "What's going on? Do you _know_ who approaches?"

Blonde hair jostled as the stranger nodded. "Yes. The templars come to kill you."

"Templars?!" Cullen was now at Zanneth's side. Cassandra made no attempt to halt _him_. "This is the Order's response to our talks with the mages?! Attacking _blindly_?!"

"The Red Templars went to the Elder One." Zanneth watched as a flash of grey eyes was revealed between the boy's blonde hair, meeting her eyes. She wanted to see more. "You know him." It was a statement. "He knows _you_ well. You took his mages. He approaches there." At the last, the boy – Cole – pointed up and away.

A tall, skeletal figure stood atop a rise of rock near the shore of the frozen lake. It had other figures around it, but it rose high above them all. Its arms were impossibly long, its shoulders impossibly broad, and its head seemed distorted somehow. Zanneth could not discern more than that.

Cullen, however, had a small spyglass to his eye. "I know that man next to him. It's… _Samson_? And this Elder One… he's…" Cullen blanched, and he looked back up to his companions. "It is the stuff of nightmares."

"He is very _angry_ you took his mages," Cole said, seeming to speak directly into Zanneth's mind.

"Cullen! Give me a plan! Anything!" This was Cassandra, turning to face the commander while _still_ keeping a hand on Zanneth's shoulder. The compulsion to get close to the newcomer was dissipating, however, and she moved away from him, closer to those she knew and trusted. She felt slightly disoriented, but focusing on Cullen eased its passing.

His shoulders had sagged. "Haven is no fortress, Seeker. If we are to withstand this… _monster_, then we must control the battle. Get out there with our soldiers and fire the trebuchets. Take them out before they get to us." He took a deep breath, squaring his soldiers, and turned, stalking back inside the gates. There, awaiting him, were all the forces of the Inquisition, which had gathered almost silently while they spoke with the stranger.

"Mages! You have sanction to engage them unchecked! Use whatever spell and skill you have to defeat them!" He pulled his sword, looking no less intimidating for his missing arm. "Inquisition! Work together! For your lives! For your families! For _all of us_!" Then he turned and ran through the gates toward the enemy without a backward glance.

In that moment, Zanneth could see why he was chosen as the commander. For as Cassandra dragged her to the side, she watched as every person gathered inside the gates pulled their weapon and ran after him, battle cries falling from their lips. He could rally them all to work together, even mages and non-mages.

"Hurry, we must go. Not many know how to aim a trebuchet." Zanneth looked up to see Cassandra's worried eyebrows staring down at her.

"And you are one?"

"Yes."

"Lead the way, Cassandra."

The Seeker nodded, giving Zanneth's hand one final squeeze before running ahead. The elf took one last look around before catching Cole's grey eyes. They would not win this. Haven was already on fire, even if the flames were not yet visible.

She ran after Cassandra, not yet aware that the thought had not originated in her own mind.

* * *

"Quit that."

The stranger turned away from the Herald's retreating back, facing Solona. "What?"

"I know what you're doing," she said, eyeing the newcomer. "You said your name is Cole?"

"Yes."

"And what _are_ you, Cole?"

"I… am not sure."

"Mmm hmm. Come, you're staying with me."

"Why?"

Solona took him by the shoulder pad of his tunic, turning him and shoving him through the gate into Haven. "Because I know what you're doing, so you can't influence my thoughts, Spirit."

"Spirit… yes." Cole looked up at her, grey eyes wide. "I was a spirit. I'm not anymore, not completely, but…" His eyes grew wide, his body stiffening and his voice excited as he spoke. "You are the Warrior! He wanted you! You have forgotten, but it was _you_ he would use first! He had to find another way!"

Solona stopped, taking hold of the young man's elbow. What he said brought vague specters to her mind's eye. "What did you say?"

"When you were prisoner! The Elder One wanted you to take him into the Fade, but he could not control you. You don't have the taint, and-"

"What? Of course I have the taint. How could I not have it anymore? And what would that matter, anyway?"

His eyes were large as he took hold of the arm holding _him_. "There is no time, Warrior. You will see soon enough. You lost it long before you left the Order. For now, the non-combatants aren't safe. We must get them to the Chantry."

Blinking a few times, Solona nodded. "Dammit. You're right. Don't run off, Spirit. I will make sure no one hurts you if you promise the same for them."

"I will hurt no one. I only want to help." Then he was gone, like an apparition on the wind.

Solona had no time to wonder. Spinning around, she ran off in the direction of Leliana and her scouts.

* * *

The fighting was fierce but not unmanageable. Cassandra tried not to think of what would happen when the main force came up over the mountain. They had to cut them off. She did not know _how_, however. She was a warrior, not a soldier. The Seeker did not fight large forces, and certainly did not _direct_ them. She knew how to aim a single trebuchet. She did not know how to unleash many of them upon an army.

"I know what we have to do!"

The Seeker felled the man in front of her, his face covered by a templar's helm, and turned to her lover. She watched as the elf loosed an arrow. It took a templar in the eye-slot of his helm.

"What?"

"We must cut off their access to Haven! Aim the trebuchet for the hills! We need an avalanche! We will never win this otherwise!" Zanneth pulled another arrow, aiming for Cassandra. It flew over her shoulder before she could even react. Whirling around, Cassandra was surprised to find a templar soldier had snuck up behind her. But Zanneth had taken the woman down with a single arrow to the throat. Bless her.

And she was right. An avalanche would do the trick, and save their trebuchets. She took off running for the siege weapon. She didn't have time to be polite with the woman aiming it. Instead, she shoved her out of the way, just hard enough to take her place. "Change of plans! Go protect the Herald!"

Sheathing her sword, she reached for the crank. It would take many minutes to aim the monstrosity of a weapon as far as it needed to be shifted. She had one chance.

"To me! To me! Chargers, to me! Protect the Herald!"

Cassandra, still turning the crank, turned her head to see The Iron Bull fast approaching. With him was a swarm of his Chargers. They descended upon the clearing like locusts, cutting down templars as they went. And good riddance. The templars were as Zanneth described from her trip into the future. Those eyes she could see housed a red glow. Some had no hands, instead wielding razor-sharp "blades" of red lyrium, which sprouted from their arms. Some even seemed to wear the stuff as armor, great spikes of red lyrium protruding from shoulders and chests, from knees and elbows, and in one case, to the side of one's head.

_Thank the Maker we did not seek them out first,_ she thought to herself, still turning the crank, hand over hand. _They have been exposed for months in order to be this affected. I wonder if they agreed to it long ago, or if this Elder One somehow tricked them into ingesting the red lyrium and __**then**__ had them join his cause?_

"What's the plan, Boss?" Bull gruffed once the last red templar had been felled.

Zanneth did not hesitate. "Cassandra aims the trebuchet for the mountainside! An avalanche will slow or even stop them, and give us time to evacuate! We cannot win this with our small numbers!"

"Sound a plan as any. Chargers!" Bull turned, facing his men- and women-at-arms. "Form up! No one gets to the Herald or the Seeker!"

Zanneth turned, running up the steps to the platform that Cassandra was slowly shifting as she aimed the trebuchet. "How are you, _ma vhenan_?" she asked.

"Fine," Cassandra huffed. Her muscles bunched under her shirt, and her hands ached, but she could continue. It must be done. "I will be glad when we can retreat. How are _you_?"

"Frightened," Zanneth admitted, her brown eyes wide in the moonlight. "But I will be all right with you here."

Cassandra's heart pounded at the elf's bravery. Redoubling her efforts, she poured all her strength into the trebuchet. The sooner she had it aimed, the sooner they could be out of danger. They _just_ sealed the Breach! The Maker had the most inconvenient timing.

The ground suddenly shook.

"Horns up, Chargers! Here comes a behemoth!"

Cassandra looked up to see a truly monstrous creature, coated in red lyrium. It was slightly taller than Bull, great horns protruding from its head, pointing behind it. It lumbered toward them, hands made of red lyrium pointed for Cassandra and the trebuchet. Her heart pounded as the thing picked up speed. The way it moved over the ground, the way its legs carried it and is arms swung from its shoulders, was familiar.

"Shite!" Sera's voice rang out, incredulous. "That thing's _qunari_?!"

* * *

Bull roared. Those fucking templars and their fucking meddling! They'd captured some qunari Tal Vashoth, fed him red lyrium, and then unleashed him upon Haven! Perhaps that hadn't been what they'd done, but it was all Bull could think of at the moment. Fucking Tal Vashoth. The Qun protected weak minds. Tal Vashoth were unprotected weak links, available to be manipulated and _used_ outside of the Qun.

And now this. _Fucking bastards!_

"Chargers! Take that thing _down_! _No one gets to the trebuchet!_"

Hefting his maul in both hands, Bull began running, lowering his head just like the red qunari ahead of him did. It was a natural position for him as he ran. Long ago, his people had battled with those horns, aiming to stab competition away from their mates. Later, it had become ritualized, a battle to first blood and not to death. The ritual had left them as they civilized further, no longer taking mates, but still the position was a natural one for his body to take.

As he neared the hulking beast, Bull unleashed another battle cry, aiming his maul for the creature's legs.

It jumped. Fucking hell, it literally _jumped_ over his weapon!

His momentum not stopped by anything, Bull kept running to keep from falling, bring his maul all the way up to his shoulder with its momentum. Slowing, he turned, watching Krem run out in front of the beast.

"Krem! Move! That thing is too big!" He was going to get himself killed! He was strong, and fast, but that thing was monstrous, stronger and faster than the little man now standing _alone_ before it.

Krem either didn't hear, or ignored him, raising sword and shield with a determined look on his face.

"Krem!" Sera's voice rang out, and then an arrow sang through the air, landing right where a qunari's ear would be. Another joined it only a second later, landing where the beast's _eye_ would be. This one had come from the Herald. Was it an elf thing to have such good aim?

"Come here!" Bull shouted, running forward again. "Come get me, you fucking abomination!" It wasn't an actual abomination, like a demon possessing a body, but it _was_ a desecration of a qunari body and the soul that resided within, and Bull was thoroughly offended by its existence. Snuffing out its life would be a favor to the man this thing had once been.

Now Krem's sword lashed out, doing exactly _no_ damage. An arrow flew from one of the Chargers, hitting the creature's body. It bounced off. Someone even threw a _rock_. It did nothing, of course, but the beast was confused and didn't seem to know who to lash out against first.

Bull grinned. There was the answer.

"Keep hitting it! Distract it! Aim high! I'll go in under!" And he was off, keeping to the creature's back, trusting his people not to accidentally skewer him. He lost track of all else, moving and dodging as his men kept the thing busy. Everyone knew their part, and would play it. His was to take this motherfucker down.

After minutes that stretched on into endless, timeless moments, Bull was finally close enough to strike. He couldn't hesitate, or the thing would see him, spear him with that wicked red lyrium growing out of its body and turn _him_ into something like _it_. Bull wouldn't let that happen.

Pulling his maul back, Bull swung. Both legs of the beast, riddled with red lyrium, shattered, and it toppled to the ground with a pitiful cry. Lifting his weapon high overhead, he brought it down, crushing the thing's head and ending its pitiable existence.

The trebuchet fired. Bull looked around, watching the projectile hit the snowy mountain in the distance. Almost immediately, great sheets of snow began to fall, taking more with it as it cascaded down the mountainside, finally coating the valley below. All around him, people cheered. The Herald and the Seeker beamed at each other. Sera threw her arms around Krem's neck, digging her knuckles into his scalp. Skinner was already talking about the drinks they would have later.

But something didn't smell right to Bull. Something was off. A load of crap was about to fall on them. _Hard_.

"Horns up, Chargers! We're not done yet!"

Out of the clouds of powdery snow that drifted through the air rose a great red fireball. With a cacophonous noise that _hurt_ Bull's sensitive ears, the ball of fire rushed toward the trebuchet. Before he could even call a warning, it exploded, wood and metal splintering off and flying in all directions.

"No! The Herald!" he cried, immediately running _toward_ the fire. Zanneth and Cassandra had still been on that platform of the trebuchet.


	43. We Must Away!

Wood and metal splintered, tearing the very air apart. Everything was too hot, even the snow.

"No! The Herald!"

Zanneth groaned. A rhythmic swish pounded at her ears. Opening her eyes, all she saw at first were flames. But as her eyes focused, she saw the destruction, the running Chargers and Inquisition soldiers, the pieces of timber and twisted metal lying in melted puddles of snow…

And Cassandra's prone form. "Cassandra!" the elf yelled, forcing her sore, tired body up from the snow bank in which she had landed. Her muscles ached, her lungs burned from sealing the Breach earlier that day, and her ears rang from the explosion. But she could concentrate on none of it. Cassandra was not responding, and as Zanneth stumbled closer – she could not seem to be able to find her balance – she noticed a patch of red-stained snow beneath her lover.

"Cassandra!" Panic seeped between the cracks of Zanneth's composure. Cassandra was the strong one. She was an immovable wall. She had been thrown from a dragon's back, faced a behemoth demon, and made it through countless sparring sessions with Bull without more than a few sore muscles. She was not supposed to be hurt. She was never supposed to be hurt. She was supposed to protect Zanneth.

_That was how she got hurt_, the Herald realized as she threw herself to her knees at Cassandra's side. _She saw the fireball and took me in her arms. She turned her back to it and shielded me from damage. And now she is damaged and I cannot fix it! Help! We need help!_

"I've got her." Zanneth looked up to see Bull already leaning down. In one smooth move, he took Cassandra's arm and pulled her up over his shoulder. Zanneth's eyes were arrested by the growing crimson stain upon the warrior's shirt, just under her left shoulder.

"Move!"

Zanneth jolted in surprise when small hands pulled at her shoulders. She looked up to see Sera's blonde hair shifting as the other elf tried to force Zanneth to her feet. "Shite! Move, Lady Herald, or did ya miss the fucking _dragon_ in the sky?!"

_Dragon?_

Looking around, the swishing in the Herald's ears finally made sense. Wings beating to the same rhythm as the swishing, a dragon flew high above. As Zanneth watched, it banked to the side.

"Shite! Comin' 'round fer 'nother go, it is! Bugger fuck bloody hell _MOVE_!" Zanneth finally turned, grabbing Sera's hand and allowing the slight woman to help her to her feet. Then they were off, and not a moment too soon. As they ran, another glimmering, red ball of fire came speeding their way.

"Faster!" Zanneth shouted, pulling on Sera's hand, still held in her own, and tugging the city elf along behind her as she forced a burst of speed. A wall of force pushed them from behind just after a deafening _boom_ sounded. The Herald was thrown from her feet. Rolling instead of landing on her face, she sprang back to her feet, pushing the pain in her battered body aside. She'd been through worse. She tugged Sera to her feet, as well, and then took off running once more. Up ahead, she watched as Cassandra's limp limbs swayed from side to side as Bull ran with her over his shoulders.

It seemed to take an eternity to make it to the Chantry, but then suddenly they were mounting the steps up to the giant stone building.

"We need healing here! The Seeker is hurt!" Bull roared, as soon as he had the giant double doors open. He was so strong, he needed only a single kick to make enough room for his massive body to pass through.

Nearly at the same time, the strange newcomer with the high voice approached from behind. As Zanneth watched, he carried Chancellor Roderick inside, supporting the man under his arm. Roderick had a spreading crimson stain upon the front of his robes.

"He's hurt in a bad way. He will not survive," the stranger murmured.

Solona ran up from where she had been with others lying upon the ground, clearly injured at some point.

"Put her here. Don't move her more than you have to. What kind of wound is it?" The mage was already kneeling, pulling her sleeves up.

Bull did as instructed. "Don't know. She was standing on the platform of the trebuchet when a fucking dragon blew the thing to bits. I don't know what hit her or how bad it is."

Solona merely nodded. Zanneth ran up and sank to her knees as the mage closed her eyes, hands hovering over Cassand's chest. The elf was terrified, watching as a faint blue energy came to be under the mage's hands. "Come, _emma lath_," she whispered, taking the warrior's limp hand. "You must not leave me. We have only just come together."

Solona's eyes snapped open, taking in the prone, gasping form of Chancellor Roderick. "Damn."

A stab of panic knifed its way through Zanneth's heart. "What?"

"Her lung is punctured, and that man is dying." She sucked in air through her teeth, her chest heaving, before grey eyes lifted to meet Zanneth's. "I must choose one. Whoever goes second will likely die."

Zanneth's heart fell into her stomach at the mage's words.

"Choose the Seeker!" Bull roared, frowning down at Solona. "She's more important to the Inquisition!"

"But Roderick is with the Chantry!" Solona glared up at him, her volume somehow a match for Bull's. "Imagine the ramifications if I kill him!"

Zanneth's heart pounded back up, making its way into her throat. She took hold of the mage's hand. "Please," she choked, feeling tears gather in her eyes. "Please save her, Solona."

Solona looked into Zanneth's eyes, seeming to consider her deep inside, her true character. Zanneth felt as though she were under a scrutiny the likes of which her grandmother wielded, as both family and as Keeper of the clan. After only a moment, the mage nodded, just once. "You must stop touching her," she said, her voice already beginning to channel the Fade through it. She took a sharp stiletto from her belt. "Bull, hold her back. She will not like watching this."

Before Zanneth could react, a large hand took hold of her shoulder. Then, Solona plunged that stiletto into Cassandra's chest and twisted.

Zanneth screamed.

* * *

Leliana watched, unable to hear what was going on, but able to see enough to have some clue. Cassandra was badly hurt. Roderick was dying. Cassandra she could do nothing for that Solona was not already taking care of, so the spymaster knelt next to Roderick and the strange boy. Her agents were taken care of for the moment. She needed to be here, with the others, if she was to know what was happening.

A large hand grasped at her. Roderick's eyes were unseeing, and Leliana could not hear. It was an unfortunate combination.

"I am here, Roderick," she said, trying to be soothing despite her personal dislike of the man. Nobody deserved disdain as they were dying, not for merely being unlikeable.

"I know a way," he breathed. Leliana could barely understand his lips as they moved.

"A way?"

_{Yes. A way.}_

Leliana started. The newcomer, the blonde one with the strange way about him, had just _signed_ to her.

"You know the signing?"

_{Yes. There is no time to explain. He knows a way out of the Chantry. Listen carefully, and so shall I.}_ His lips moved as he spoke. As he finished, he directed Leliana's attention back down to Roderick's face.

"It is a path. Only I know it, for I came… for the summer pil… pilgrimage." Roderick's breathing was coming with more difficulty. Reading his lips was almost impossible, and yet Leliana somehow knew what he said. "Everyone else there… is dead now… Behind the Chantry, there is a path. It is covered in vines and weeds. You can barely see it. She… Andraste… she showed it to me. She _must_ have! Tell the Herald… tell her my prayers… go with her… and if she is truly the Herald… she… saved… us…"

With her hand on his chest, Leliana could feel Roderick's death rattle. After only another moment, he lay still. Leliana sighed. He had been a busy-body, but he did not deserve to die. _At least it was quick. Gut wounds are usually much worse_.

_{Your friend will be all right. Your lover has stopped the bleeding and taken care of the collapsed lung. She made the right choice. The Seeker has her part to play yet.}_

Leliana narrowed her eyes at the boy. "You are a strange man." He merely smiled. It was unnerving. A hand got her attention before she could say more to the newcomer. She turned to find Zanneth clinging to a still-unconscious Cassandra, Solona's hands covered in blood, and Cullen's brown eyes looking down into hers.

"The Chancellor is dead?" he asked.

Leliana nodded. "Yes. But he had something important to say before he died."

"Oh?"

"Yes. He very well may have saved us all, Commander."

* * *

Solona wiped her hands on her shirt. Cassandra would live. She would probably even regain consciousness soon. But it had been a close thing. Her lung had been pierced by a metal rod from the trebuchet, passing clear through her, and the wound had started sucking air into her chest cavity, thereby collapsing her lung. Solona'd had to uncollapse the lung before she could mend the tissue. The Seeker would be coughing up blood for a few days until her lungs were clear. And she would be sore as _hell_. Healing magic did nothing for the severe bruising the Seeker would have.

But it was done. Solona had even spared the Seeker another scar, though she knew Cassandra would care even less about _that_ than she did about her family legacy. Solona's eyes lifted to see that the Chancellor had passed. Next to him sat the Spirit-boy, and next to _him_ Leliana and Cullen discussed something. Almost as if called by Solona's thoughts, they both suddenly looked up, toward Solona and the crouching Herald.

Cullen spoke first, eyes on the Herald. "Your Worship, I'm sorry, but this isn't done."

Solona nudged the elf's shoulder. Brown eyes looked up to hers. "She will be all right. I promise. But the rest of us still have work to do."

Zanneth sat back on her heels, wiping her cheeks. "You're right. I'm sorry. I didn't…"

"Loving someone who does nothing but throw herself into the path of danger is difficult," Solona said, eyes finding Leliana's. I had been so difficult for Leliana to do so. "In your case, it will be both of you. Remember to thank each other for it, yes?" Her eyes snapped back to Zanneth's. "Share your burdens, Zanneth, so neither of you burns out."

The elf nodded. "Yes. I shall endeavor to do so. Now," she said, finding her feet and turning to Cullen. "Do we have a plan?"

"Parts of one, yes. That dragon destroyed whatever time you bought us with that avalanche, but Chancellor Roderick had something useful to say for the first time in his life right before he died."

"Archdemon."

Solona's, and everyone else's, head snapped to the newcomer. "What?" Solona asked.

"I have seen an archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that."

"Nonsense. I would feel the presence of…"

The newcomer's eyes pierced through her confusion. She could feel his presence around her thoughts, but allowed it. She had lost the taint. Long ago. It made sense, of course. How else could she explain that she was no longer plagued by nightmares after the Blight, and could not sense the darkspawn presence in Amaranthine? She had ignored it then. There were other wardens with her. Yes, they were green, but still they could feel the darkspawn come, so she still had the warning she needed.

But now… she could not kill this archdemon.

"I don't care about semantics!" Cullen shouted, rousing Solona's attention. "It's scaled, it flies, it breathes fire, and it will _ruin our day_ if we don't get out of here! Roderick spoke of a path. Cauthrien has already reported that it is, indeed, there, and leads back through the mountain, away from the Temple. We can grab all the food and supplies left in the village, and make our way through. But we need _time_, Herald."

The newcomer spoke. "The Elder One wants you. I don't know why, but he wants to kill you."

"You don't know why?" Solona asked. "But you can root around in our heads and hear our thoughts."

"I have tried to listen, but he's too… loud. It hurts to hear him. His will is too strong. But I do know that he wants to kill you," he said again, looking once more to Zanneth. "He cares not for anyone else, but will crush them in order to get to you."

Everyone was quiet for a moment.

"I can stall him," the elf finally said, squaring her small shoulders. "He wants me and not anyone else. I will stall them while you get everyone out on this path. What do I need to do?"

Cullen's eyes turned down in sympathy, but he still spoke of what was needed from Andraste's Herald. "Unleash another avalanche on Haven, once we have left. Stall this Elder one until the signal goes up, and then unleash icy hell upon him."

"All right, let's go," said The Iron Bull, hoisting his maul in both hands.

"No Bull. Not this time." Zanneth looked up at him. She barely came past his chest. "You need to help the Chargers get everyone out."

"Bullshit." His one eye narrowed as he looked down upon her. "Krem can get them out. Him, and Cullen, and the rest. My place is to protect _you_, little Herald."

Zanneth merely reached up, touching Bull's bare chest. It seemed to calm him, strangely, and Solona was struck by the archetypal image of a tiny mouse calming a raging beast. "You job was to be my body guard while we struggled to close the Breach. It's _sealed_ now, Bull. Now I need to go make sure the Inquisition keeps going. I'm the only one who can save _everyone_. You will just be killed, Bull. If you escape with the rest… you'll live."

The elf looked over toward Solona, though her eyes rested upon Cassandra, still lying prone upon the floor, her shirt torn open enough to reveal where the exit wound had been. "Get her to safety, Bull. I cannot do this if… if… just get her out safely."

Bull rumbled deep within his chest, a sound of displeasure that put Solona in mind of the qunari Sten who had traveled with her during the Blight. "I don't like it."

Before he could say more, Solona spoke up. "I will go, as well."

Zanneth turned. "What?!"

She began signing so Leliana would also know what she said. "He wanted me first. It was the purpose of my captivity. The Spirit knows it, and I believe him. If it is true, then throwing myself and the Herald in the Elder One's path will surely buy you all the time you need."

Bull caught her gaze, holding it for a moment before nodding, once. "Fine. Take care of the Herald, Hero. Get her out of there safe."

"I shall do all I can. I shall protect her life with my own, if needed. Though I supremely hope it is _not_ needed." She held his gaze another moment. "Just make sure it is not wasted."

"Solona, no!" Leliana hurried forward, reaching for her. Solona took the woman's outstretched hand. "You cannot do this! You are not the hero any longer!"

"Blame Alistair, love," she said, a half-smile pulling at her lips. "He insisted upon giving me that damnable title."

Leliana was quiet a moment before getting a familiar set to her features. "Then I shall go, as well."

"No Leli," Solona said, shaking her head. "Not this time. Make sure Cassandra gets out safely. _I_ will bring both your lovers back."

Leliana held her gaze for a long time. Everyone in the room seemed to melt away for a moment as Solona stared into those pools of cerulean before her. Finally, Leliana pushed up on the balls of her feet, throwing her arms around Solona's shoulders and treating her to a rough kiss.

"Come back to me, Solona," she said as they parted. "I have only so many abandonments I can forgive."

Solona's heart kicked at the words, but she nodded. "I promise, I will do all I can to return to you. To return _both_ of us."

Leliana nodded, turned, and ran off, calling to some of her agents gathered near Josephine and Revka's office.

Solona turned, as well. "Cullen. Get my sister out of here safely. Do you understand me?"

The man nodded solemnly. "If I must give my life to do so, it will be done."

"Good. All right." She looked down to the Herald. "Are you ready?"

"No." The elf blinked, sighed. "But still it must be done. Let us go."

They walked through the doors of the Chantry together, the heroes of each of their tales.


	44. The Elder One

_A/N: Hi, folks! So, I managed to get this written while my computer's keyboard was still working. But it has now officially given up. I'm taking it to be repaired tomorrow. Until I get it back, I have the occasional use of my wife's computer, but I can't count on it._

_I've also been informed that I'm being laid off, so I'm hitting the job boards hard. Between the broken computer and the job hunting and the being stressed by the holidays (and impending joblessness), I really don't know how much writing you'll see. We're also nearing the end of O Seeker, and that almost always slows down the writing of a fic._

_Anyway, the point of all this is, I'll write when I can, but things are going to continue to come slowly until 1) my computer is fixed, and 2) I get a job (or am on unemployment and have a lot more time). I hope you don't mind being patient._

_Okay, without further groveling for your patience, here you go!_

* * *

The village of Haven was almost silent. Zanneth's ears had stopped ringing and her emotions were under control. Taking a moment, she took in all she could hear. Solona's boots crunched in the gravel next to her. Fire crackled, sap hissed as it boiled in the trees, and wood wet from the snow popped when a pocket of steam overheated and forced its escape. In the distance, men and women shouted, those of the Inquistion as well as the red templar forces. But the normal sounds of Haven – children running and laughing, the clash of practice weapons during sparring matches, and the general murmur of low-level conversation – was absent.

Zanneth immediately missed it.

When she opened her eyes, she looked up at Solona. "Let us delay no further."

"I couldn't agree more," the mage said. The arcane warrior stood tall and proud, white hair on display and uncovered, her body unarmored. She was armed, however, wearing two swords of different make, a long dagger, and a metal-capped wooden staff, intricately carved at the top.

Solona turned, beginning a light jog through the courtyard. Zanneth followed.

"Why are these so important?" Zanneth asked. The weapons seemed more important than most. The scabbards were carved with intricate symbols, one sword and the dagger matching, the other sword entirely different. The staff, too, seemed more than a mere tool. Zanneth wished to know, and it occurred to her that it was important to ask _now_. She might not live past the next ten minutes. If she was to know, now was the time.

_I might not live past the next ten minutes. I might not… I might not… _Zanneth was terrified, even if she was holding on to her composure. She thought of Cassandra, broken and bleeding in the snow; of the future Seeker gutted by that horrid monster in Redcliffe; of her lover lying alive and well on the floor of the Chantry not five minutes ago. _I want to live._

"This is a sword made especially for arcane warriors," Solona said, pointing to the elegantly-curved one she had buckled at her waist. "This sword and this dagger were the chosen weapons of the man who recruited me into the Order of the Grey. It is traditionally carried by the Warden-Commander, but the current Commander of the Grey in Ferelden would not take it. He never truly accepted my resignation, as it were. And this," she said, indicating her staff, "is the preferred weapon of most mages. It is enchanted to allow us to channel spells through it more easily. I'm sure your Keeper uses something similar."

"Yes. She does. But something about it… it seems this particular one is important to you."

"Aye, it is. It belonged to a mage who… she was my mentor, my friend, my mother, and my sister, all in one. Wynne sacrificed herself to save Leliana after I killed the archdemon. Carrying her staff… it is important to me."

"Like how I carried my mother's bow," Zanneth said, nodding. "Also sacrificed to Leliana, as it happens."

"Yes. I remember. She does not think she deserves it, all these people ensuring her survival. I fail every time to make her see how wrong she is."

They had no more time to talk. Ahead was their target: the last standing trebuchet. The red templars had not yet recovered themselves; the clearing was empty.

"How do we let him know we are here?" Zanneth asked, looking up to Solona. "How do we draw him here and keep his attention away from the Chantry?"

Solona was inexplicably grinning. "I know just the way. You start aiming the trebuchet. I will draw this Elder One's attention."

Even as the arcane warrior spoke, her voice changed. All voices, male and female, elvhen and human, young and old, issued from her lips. Her eyes began to glow, losing the definition of the pupil and iris. Zanneth knew the mage did not actually grow, but her presence seemed to do so, taking up so much more room than she had mere moments before. The elf backed away as Solona's hands raised before her. Held between them was a ball of light. Zanneth turned and ran. She did not wish to be anywhere near that ball of concentrated power.

The night lit up all around her as she ran up the ramp to the aiming mechanism of the trebuchet. Turning, she saw that Solona had let off a blast of light into the night sky. _I must aim this monstrosity. This will not work if I do not_.

As she reached for the controls, she briefly wondered why Solona could not herself cause the avalanche. Surely that would be easier?

_Perhaps her magic is short-range only. Perhaps she cannot move an entire mountainside, even if standing directly on the mountain itself. Or… perhaps it is that she could do so, but the point of this exercise is to draw the Elder One's attention and stall him until the signal. If Solona went to the mountainside now and caused the avalanche… it would defeat the purpose of being out here in the first place._

Even as she thought of the answer, the elf continued to turn the crank. She was tired. She was sore. Her hands hurt and her muscles bunched painfully under her jacket. Her fingers were nearly numb on the metal in the snow. But she persevered. She must aim the trebuchet and be off the machine before the Elder One thought to destroy this one, as well.

A trumpeting call sounded. Zanneth turned her face to see a giant, red, angry ball of fire headed her way. But the wind seemed to pick up, and the fireball changed its trajectory, hitting some boulders some distance away without causing any damage. Turning to look behind her, Zanneth saw Solona's eyes fixed in the distance where the fireball had originated.

"Run!" the arcane warrior shouted, drawing the sword from her hip, which glowed with her magic. "It will destroy the trebuchet if it aims at you while you're on it!"

"Just a bit more!" the elf cried. Mustering up her meager strength, the Herald of Andraste gave a mighty cry, shoving the crank the rest of the way necessary to aim the trebuchet. Then she was running like her life depended on it, which it very likely did. Everyone's lives did. That trebuchet could not be collateral damage; it must survive long enough to cause the avalanche.

Zanneth ran, jumping from the platform just as she heard the _swoosh_ of the dragon's wings. Forcing herself to breathe through her aching lungs, she put on a burst of speed, hurrying to Solona's side just as another blast of flame headed toward them. Solona quickly sheathed her sword and reached her hands out, drawing the flame to her, gathering it in a tight ball before pushing her hands out. The ball of energy flew harmlessly away.

The dragon flew overhead, but it was not the _swish_ of its wings that had Zanneth's attention. Gravel and ice crunched, coming from the direction of a dense fog that had not been there moments before. The elf's eyes could not penetrate the murky mist.

"Show yourself," Solona declared, multi-toned voice loud and full.

Instead, the ground shook. Looking behind them, Zanneth saw that the dragon had landed. They were trapped.

"Show yourself!" Solona demanded once more.

"**Enough." ** The voice grated like metal on stone, and yet was deeper than any voice Zanneth had heard. It was the voice that had issued from the rift the first time she attempted to seal the Breach. It was the stuff of nightmares. It cut down to Zanneth's very marrow, making her bones vibrate. And it had only been a single word.

"**Kneel."** Red light flared to life within the fog. At the same time, Zanneth's hand began glowing as brightly as when a rift was nearby. Solona let out a cry of pain, her voice now her own. The elf pivoted around to look upon the arcane warrior, finding her on her knees, her head in her hands. The elf looked back toward the mists just in time to see the Elder One come into focus.

It was horrid. Flesh melded with red lyrium, with metal, with shards of bone, all fused in some horrid facsimile of a human body. He must have stood eight feet tall, shoulders impossibly broad, with skeletal arms that were far too long. His fingers, too, had far too much reach, ending in points like talons. Fur lined his pauldrons and tatters of clothing flickered in the mountain breeze, but other than that, his grisly body was on display for all to see. Rather than make him seem weak, it only heightened his power.

He couldn't be something alive. What _was_ he?

In his hand he held some kind of stone orb, glowing with ghastly red light. Somehow she knew that it was directed at Solona, causing her this separation from her arcane energies. It looked familiar to Zanneth. It was on the tip of her tongue...

"**Pretender."** His voice grated upon Zanneth's sensitive ears. Cole was right. It _hurt_ to listen to him. **"You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more."**

"What- ah! What do you want with us?!" Solona cried out again, but Zanneth was pleased to find her struggling to stand. The elf reached out, helping the mage bodily to her feet.

"**Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are, what I was. Yes, even **_**you**_**, Warrior."**

Solona was clearly in pain. Her whole body was wire-tight; she could barely stand on her own. But, somehow, she was still speaking. "How do you know me? What did you want with me? Why did you have Alexius capture me?"

"He can control the taint, you half-wit!"

All heads turned to find Alexius, of all people, tottering toward them. His robes were badly burned, his face red and angry on one side. _He must have escaped the dungeons in the chaos_, Zanneth thought. He looked horrible. As he neared, it was obvious that the skin of his face had blistered. One leg had a tremendous limp. One hand was tucked around his mid-section, the other reaching out toward the Elder One.

"Master, please! Take me with you! I remain ever loyal! I did not know the arcane warrior's companion had cleansed her of the taint! Nobody knew! _She_ did not even kn-"

Alexius's pleas were silenced as he was speared through the middle. The dragon lifted its head… and Alexius was no more.

"**I have no time for servants who are unable to perform simple tasks." **The Elder One's glowing red eyes were upon Solona and Zanneth once more. **"You were to take me to the Fade, Warrior. Your power is enough. And tainted as you were… I could control you. Except the hour of my victory was snatched from me by your human **_**ignorance**_**. The spirit healer cleansed you of the taint and robbed me of my tool. But no matter. I found another way."**

"You… you control the taint?" Solona's face had drained of blood at the revelation, the import of which Zanneth could not begin to fathom. "I… I have heard of you…"

"**Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One. The **_**will**_** that is Corypheus**!"

A skeletal arm raised, one long talon pointed directly at Zanneth. **"You will kneel."**

"Why are you here?!" Zanneth shouted. "You haven't even made any demands!"

"**I ask for nothing, because it is not in your power to give. But that will not stop me."** The monstrosity before her - Corypheus - raised the hand with the orb. Solona immediately fell back to the ground with a deep groan of pain. Zanneth, however, found herself standing taller. Not because she felt more confident, however, but because she felt inexplicably drawn up and forward.

"**I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now."** His arm launched toward her, and her hand responded, crackling and sizzling and shooting out toward his. Her fingers felt afire. She wanted to scratch off her fingernails. The pain shot up through her arm, settling in her elbow, then up to her shoulder. _If I could remove my entire arm, I would be happy, if it would end the pain_.

Zanneth cried out, falling to her knees.

"**It is your fault, 'Herald.' You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you **_**stole its purpose**_**."** He gestured with his hand once more, and the pain doubled. Zanneth cried out, clenching her eyes shut. It felt as though her hand was trying to separate from her body. **"I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as 'touched,' what you flail at rifts, **_**I**_** crafted to assault the very heavens."**

He seemed to tug at the air again, and Zanneth let out a scream. Her hand was beyond pain. Her whole arm felt as though the bone were attempting to forcibly remove itself. But then the connection between her hand and Corypheus seemed to sever. Zanneth fell forward onto her face, immediately rolling to her side. Her whole left side ached. Her hand still felt afire, though the pain was less white-hot than it had been. Her breathing came in gasping pants, and black was trying to encroach upon her vision.

_I'm hyperventilating. I must get my breathing under control or I will pass out_.

Her heart, too, beat more furiously than she thought possible. Her chest _ached_ with it.

"**You use the Anchor to undo my work. The **_**gall**_**!"**

"Take it!" Zanneth shouted, trying desperately to slow and deepen her breathing. "I never asked for this!"

"**Mortals have always cried thus."** Corypheus was closer now. **"Praise me, for I would end the silence that answers your pleas!"** Two crunching steps sounded, and then a bruising grip tightened about Zanneth's left arm. The world tilted, and her shoulder immediately popped out of place. The pain was excruciating as she flailed about in the air. Zanneth shrieked, reaching over with her free hand to hold onto Corypheus's wrist, relieving the pressure on her poor shoulder.

"**I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire **_**in person**_**."** Red, burning eyes bore down into Zanneth's. His presence, his voice… there was room for nothing else in the elf's head. **"I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the **_**will**_** to return under no name but my own. To champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world."**

Zanneth felt a terror in her heart she could not even name, could never have conceived of, as Corypheus brought her face even closer to his.

"**Beg that I succeed,"** he said, his hot, ashy breath rolling over her in waves, **"for I have seen the throne of the gods, and **_**it was empty**_**!"**

The next thing Zanneth knew, she was flying through the air. Pain exploded behind her eyes as she hit the trebuchet, but she managed to hold onto consciousness. Her arm was in such searing pain that she wanted it removed. It hung limply at her side, useless. She stood on shaky feet. Without thinking too long on it, she rammed her whole body into the side of the trebuchet, forcing her shoulder back into its joint before it swelled too much to do so. The pain increased, but she was able to move it.

Scanning the clearing, Zanneth saw that Solona was unconscious, the dragon closing upon her. The Elder One would kill them both. And his power to do so emanated from that horrific red orb.

"**The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling. So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation - and **_**God**_** \- it requires."**

Zanneth's eyes searched. She did not know what for. She had forgotten why she was out here. Corypheus was so _large_ that he drove everything else out of her head. But a faint glow behind him _did_ catch her attention. And that brought everything back. _The signal. I must cause the avalanche! They are at a safe distance! Cassandra is safe!_

_Cassandra…_

"**And you. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You **_**must**_** die."**

Defiance swelled in Zanneth's chest. "I _must_ do nothing! Enjoy digging Haven out of the snow, Corypheus!" Pivoting, Zanneth lifted her foot and kicked the levered release of the trebuchet. Gears turned, the chain slithered loose, and then stones were flying through the air.

And Zanneth was already running. The dragon's trumpeted roar sounded even as Zanneth ran toward it, intending on dragging Solona to her feet if she must. Instead of continuing toward the arcane warrior, the dragon jumped away, over Zanneth and for Corypheus. The elf did not turn to watch, but she imagined Corypheus's only concern was getting himself away from the avalanche that had stopped so many of his advance guard.

Zanneth reached Solona. The mage's eyes were miraculously open.

"We must move! _Now_!" Zanneth shouted. She reached down, barely stopping, finding some well of strength within her that allowed her to pull Solona straight to her feet. She was then running once more, practically dragging the arcane warrior behind her.

"Here! Wait!" Hands suddenly seized her, and Zanneth felt herself enveloped in flame. Her skin crisped and charred. The ground fell out from under her. The last thing she knew were pleading eyes begging her forgiveness before blackness took over.

* * *

Solona knelt upon the ice. Her clothes hung in singed tatters about her. She had only engulfed herself in flames for a moment, but it had been enough. Enough to save them, to send them through the snow drift she sense and into the tunnels below Haven. Enough to singe her clothes but not ruin them.

Enough to injure Zanneth beyond comprehension, but not to kill her.

"Such an idiot, Solona!" she berated herself. She was exhausted, but no longer hurt. But she could barely hold on to her power. Something about that orb… it had acted like the artifact that had kept her Alexius's prisoner for months. Except it was also different. It was as though it drained her of magic, of her innate energy. Her arcane magic could not replace the energy she carried. It could only match it. When she was exhausted… her ability to channel her magic was severely limited. It had always been that way. This orb had depleted her energy for her, however.

Trying one last time, Solona called upon the well of power within her. It was weak, faded. Cold. This had never happened before. But she had never been through anything quite like that magic-draining device.

The power was still there, however. Calling it forth, she felt it flood her, a thinner supply than usual, but still useable. Channeling the energy, she directed it into Zanneth, finding the torn, broken, blistered, dead flesh and coaxing it to mend. Before her eyes, dead skin sloughed off, replaced by new, unbroken, porcelain skin. The leather jacket had spared Zanneth's torso, but the leggings had charred in some places, just like Solona's own clothing. And the elf's face… Solona could not replace the ink of the _vallaslin_. It now had two large patches of healed skin with no tattoo upon it: one on her forehead, and the other across the bridge of her nose. She still bore most of the marks on her face, but those two patches were noticeably missing. The hair had been scorched some, but not completely. A pair of shears taken to it, and she would look normal.

All in all, it had been the right call to make in that moment, despite the fact that it had hurt the Herald so thoroughly. Seconds after she and Zanneth had sunk through the melted snow, the avalanche had covered the hole with more of the stuff. Some had cascaded through after them, but, all in all, they were in far better shape than if Solona had allowed the two of them to be buried along with Haven.

And now she had fixed the mistake she had made, even as she had saved herself and the Herald. Allowing the curtain to fall behind her eyes, Solona let her power fade from her.

It was the wrong decision. As the power faded, so did the light from her eyes. She couldn't see. She couldn't move. She felt far too warm. _Oh no. I'm going to pass out. Shit. We can't stay here or we'll freeze._

A hand seemed to take her, curling her up and making her extremely comfortable. Solona closed her eyes.

_I'm sorry, Leliana…_


	45. More Questions Than Answers

_A/N: Okay, so this is waaaaay overdue. I started a new job Monday and have moved from part-time to full-time, but I may be able to do some writing in downtime at work, so we'll see what happens. We're nearing the end of this, and writing this chapter has been like pulling teeth. I finally had to take an entirely new approach. I hope, once the next chapter goes up and y'all get some answers, that it works for you._

_Sorry for the cliffhanger last chapter and then leaving you hanging for a fucking **month**. But hopefully, we're underway again!_

* * *

Cassandra paced.

She had awoken some time ago, carried in the arms of The Iron Bull, of all people. She had been sore and short of breath, wheezing if she tried to breathe too deeply, but otherwise capable of moving on her own. The news received upon her awakening had been grim: the occupants of Haven had managed to evacuate, with no pursuit, but the town had been razed by an avalanche. An avalanche brought on by Zanneth and Solona.

And Zanneth was nowhere to be found.

It had taken being physically restrained to keep Cassandra from marching out into the blizzard to find her lover. Much shouting had commenced, culminating in Cassandra trying to take a swing at Bull… only to find herself on the ground, panting from the exertion. She had relented after that, but her gut had frozen over with the news that Zanneth had potentially sacrificed herself so that the rest of Haven might make its escape.

Now the blizzard had blown itself out, but Cassandra was still too weak to commence the search on the mountain path. Instead, The Iron Bull had taken his Chargers, stalking back through the fresh powder toward Haven. Even… even if Zanneth had not survived, they all wanted to recover her body. They all did, but Cassandra most of all.

She shuddered, thinking of the possibility of Zanneth's body, cold and stiff, being brought back to camp. Why did she do it? Why did not more people help her? Cassandra would have been at her side without an ounce of hesitation. Nothing could have pulled her away.

_Of course she would go out there on her own_, her logical side countered._ I know her well enough by now. We are alike in that way. It __**had**__ to be done, and her purpose in closing the Breach was complete, so she was no longer concerned with preserving herself for the mark to do its work. One life in exchange for every single other life? I would not hesitate to volunteer for such a thing were __**I**__ the one the Elder One sought._

_Especially if I was keeping __**her**__ safe. Which Bull said was exactly what Zanneth was doing. Keeping me – her lover – safe._

Cassandra looked up to the heavens, brows furrowed. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. Her breath barely came.

_Where are you, dear one? Emma lath? Why are you snatched from me at our moment of victory?_

_We were naked in each other's embrace. I still have your taste upon my lips. I… that cannot be the last time I taste your essence. It cannot be the last time I kiss you, or touch you, or hold you to my breast. You are so dear to me, Zanneth. Already I long for your arms around me._

She stopped pacing, falling to her knees, clasping her hands together in a most desperate gesture. _Dear Maker, hear my plea. Let her yet live. I still need her. The Inquisition needs its Herald. Do not take her from us this day. I beg you. Take her not to your side. Leave her here, with us. With me._

A rustling sound caught her attention, and then Leliana was kneeling in the snow at her side. The redhead, cowl pulled back for possibly the first time within the vicinity of strangers, looked over and up, into the Right Hand's eyes. Cassandra then found her right hand held in Leliana's left, their fingers intertwining.

"You would pray?" Cassandra asked, incredulous. Leliana had not done so openly in a very long time. It saddened Cassandra. Their faith – their discussions of the Chant and Andraste, with Justinia and without, their shared prayer – was what their friendship, their sisterhood, was built upon. With Solona's absence and then Justinia's death, Leliana had distanced herself from her faith, from the Maker, and therefore from Cassandra. Where the Right Hand found comfort and introspective guidance when kneeling in prayer, Leliana had found too much time alone, too much time to think, and too much time to grieve. Instead, the Left Hand had thrown herself into her bloody work, growing cold and detached. Solona's return had brought some of the warmth back.

And now, it seemed, Leliana was ready to turn to the Maker for help, for guidance, as she used to do when things were not quite so bleak for her.

"Yes, Cassandra," Leliana answered, squeezing her hand. "I am out of practice, however. Will you pray with me?"

It then dawned upon Cassandra just how selfish she had been in her worry. Zanneth was not the only one missing, not the only one who had risked her life for the safety of all others.

"Solona," she breathed, and Leliana smiled sadly, her chin dipping in a small nod.

"Yes, my friend. We are both praying for the unlikely safety of someone we love."

"How could you let her go again, after having her returned so recently?"

Eyes wet with unshed tears, Leliana answered with exactly what Cassandra needed to hear. "Because while she is mine alone to _love_, she is not mine to keep. Solona belongs to Thedas. Her blood, the legacy of the arcane warrior, compels her to protect any and all she can. She went to face the Elder One to protect the rest of us. And she also went to protect the Herald, Cassandra. As much as I wish to selfishly keep her here, away from harm, at my side… she is not mine to keep."

Stunned, Cassandra could only stare into Leliana's cerulean eyes. _Zanneth is not mine to keep. She belongs to Thedas, and she is compelled by her very nature as a Dalish huntress to keep her clan safe, at any cost. Even if it is her life._

_Her clan is now the Inquisition._

_She is not mine to keep. She is mine to love, but she is not mine to keep from doing what must be done._

Cassandra nodded, turning to take Leliana's other hand. If they were to pray together, then let them pray _together_. Looking into Leliana's eyes, she began speaking, enunciating the words clearly so that her deaf friend might understand them and be truly _present_ in their prayers.

"Andraste, Bride of the Maker, we pray that you would speak with your heavenly Consort on our behalf…"

* * *

The landscape was the purest white The Iron Bull had ever seen.

It was also the biggest pain in the ass to wade through.

"Fuck snow," he grumbled, lifting one heavy foot out of the hole he had just fallen into. "This is fucking bullshit. If we have to wade through this crap all the way down the mountain, just knock me out and throw me down the side. I'm sure I'll still be alive when I reach the bottom."

Krem snickered from his place in front of the qunari. "What? The steps I'm making for you not enough to keep from sinking?"

"You know I weigh at least three times what you do," Bull countered, sizing the smaller man up. "You're bulky as all hell, but humans are just _smaller_ than qunari. No matter how much you pack the snow for me. I still appreciate the gesture, though."

"Well, tha's too bad," Sera piped up, scampering by him. "If ya were small 'n ligh', you wouldn' even need Kremy to walk in fron' of ya!"

Bull marked the elf for death in his head. _When the Inquisition's over. No one will even miss her_. He watched as Krem craned his head around to follow the spritely movements of the blonde elf. _Krem would miss her. They're getting pretty close. I wonder if they're fucking? I should ask him about it._

"Chargers! See anything?" he shouted, his voice carrying far enough to reach even his most distant scout. All answers were negative. "Dammit. I shouldn't have listened to her," Bull mumbled, cursing as his foot once again sank right through the packed footprint Krem had left behind for him. "Should've said to hell with it and followed her out there."

"Then you'd just be lost, too, Chief." Krem stopped, turning half around to look up at Bull. "Then whose ugly mug would we look at when we're bored?"

Bull smirked. "Definitely not _yours_, pretty boy. Look at you. Not a scar on you."

Krem opened his mouth to retort, but he never got the chance. A shout went up from Skinner, and then they were all converging on the elf.

"Practically stepped on them," the former Orlesian servant was saying.

"Dig 'em out," Bull ordered, and within minutes he was kneeling next to both Zanneth and the mage. He let out a low whistle. "This ain't good. Look at her ear." Zanneth's right ear, which had been laying directly against the snow, was black at the very tip, and red and white down along the outer shell. Another two days, and it would be huge and blistered where it wasn't already black and frozen solid. "It's gonna have to come_off_."

"It can wait, though," Dalish said, standing up. "Most pressing is the hypothermia. They were smart to take shelter in a snow cave, but falling asleep was dangerous. If they had stayed awake, they could have gotten up and moved once the worst of the blizzard had passed. But as it is… their temperatures have fallen. We must get them back."

Bull knelt, picking Solona up, weapons and all, and throwing her over his shoulder. Krem knelt and did the same for Zanneth.

"Fortunately, they made it pretty close to where we made camp. Come on, Chargers. Horns up. We did good. Drinks are on me once the Herald is in the clear."

Sera led the way, prancing over the snow as if it _weren't_ made in exactly the right way to piss Bull off. By the time they got back, he was_definitely_ going to need a damn drink.

* * *

"What would you have me tell them? This isn't what we asked them to do!"

Cassandra's head snapped to the side, cutting off her quiet chanting. Leliana, too, looked in the same direction. There, in the distance, paced Cullen, Revka and Ser Cauthrien with him. A moment's observation showed Josephine to be not far behind.

"We cannot ignore this," Revka said, gentler, but still carrying to Cassandra's ears. "We must find a way to continue, to rebuild."

"What are they saying?" Leliana asked.

Cassandra frowned as she turned to face her friend. "They argue over something. The troops, I think. Let us go and see, shall we?"

Leliana got to her feet, helping Cassandra out of the hard, packed snow of the camp. "Yes. Let's."

"And who put you in charge, Revka? We must find a consensus, or we have nothing! We cannot ask them to go on, in the snow, without the Herald!"

Cassandra visibly winced at that. Even when you were arguing as professionals, snapping like that at your – _pregnant_ – wife was not generally a wise course of action.

"Please!" Josephine said, quieter than the others, but audible as Cassandra and Leliana came closer. "Keep your volume down, lest our troops hear our argument!" Cassandra could only inwardly agree with the ambassador. Morale was a fickle thing, and it hardly got worse than having to evacuate your center of operations at the expense of your leader, which was what Zanneth had slowly become. Hearing an argument about it would not be good for morale. "We must use reason! We must maintain the infrastructure of the Inquisition, or we will be hobbled and unable to do anything!"

"That-"

Whatever Cullen was about to say, they would never learn what it was, for at that moment, Cauthrien cut him off.

"They return!" the knight shouted, pointing toward Cassandra and Leliana. The Right Hand whirled around to see Bull's hulking frame silhouetted against the bright white snow in the morning light.

"Bull!" Cassandra shouted, immediately beginning to run on the packed, slippery snow. Carried over the giant qunari's shoulder was a figure much too large to be Zanneth. _That must be Solona_.

As soon as she thought it, Leliana's cry could be heard echoing around the camp. "Solona!" she shouted, and, somehow, began running even faster than Cassandra.

The warrior was close behind, however. "Do you have them both?" she asked as Bull stopped, letting Leliana begin to pull the cloak covering the mage back so she could fuss over her limp, unconscious lover.

"Bull," Cassandra barked, coming to a halt. His eyes snapped up to hers. Her heart threatened both to fall through her stomach and to burst forth from her throat. "Do you have them both?"

"Yeah. I got 'em. But..."

"Hypothermic, they are. Gotta get 'em warmed up," Sera announced, able to deliver the bad news that Bull seemed unable to say aloud. As she said it, Krem, Bull's lieutenant that Sera had been carrying on with this last month, came around Bull, pulling a smaller – and just as limp – bundle from over his shoulder. Smart man that he was, he handed the Herald directly over to Cassandra, who, despite her own injuries, would bear the weight of her lover now that she was here.

The elf and human both were wrapped in cloaks, but if they had hypothermia, that was _not_ going to warm them up enough. Ahe and Leliana must spring to action.

"Come. Hurry." She leaned over, using Zanneth's foot to tap Leliana's shoulder. "Hypothermia. We must get them warm. Now."

Leliana nodded, turning back to Bull. "Come. We have tents set up."

"Lead the way, Red," the big man said.

Cassandra, meanwhile, was already hurrying toward her own tent.

Minutes later, she had Zanneth lying on the furs of the bedroll she had set out in the hopes the elf would be found. She had hoped they might make love. Now, however, Cassandra set about the task of stripping her lover for an entirely different purpose. Silently, she thanked every single person who had the foresight to spend what little time they had to gather supplies for grabbing every inch of bedding and extra clothing they could, in addition to food stores and horse feed. Without those supplies, warming Solona and Zanneth up again would be impossible.

Wet, frozen clothing came away. How did these scorch marks appear? And the holes in the elf's leggings? There seemed to be spots upon the girl's face where the _vallaslin _was missing, which seemed impossible, but Cassandra's eyes were not lying. Zanneth's hair was soaked, with sweat or melted snow, she could not say. Pushing it back from the elf's face, Cassandra caught sight of her right ear.

And gasped.

"Oh no…"

Frostbite had taken firm hold of the ear. It was black at the very tip, looking like charred flesh. The outer shell of the ear was red and white, angry and frozen. In another few days, it would be orange and blistered and _very_ painful. Cassandra had seen it plenty. She had even gotten the first stages of frostbite on a toe or two multiple times. But never like this. This was the kind of thing you did not recover from. Instead, the part of your body affected was amputated, to avoid festering dead flesh. It was incredibly painful if it was left, and yet cutting flesh off of the body of an awake patient was almost _cruel_.

Almost physically pushing her worry aside, Cassandra kept working, stripping the Herald and pulling warm, dry covers over her. It was almost painful to look upon her lover's naked body like this, limp and freezing, the woman unconscious. Cassandra could not look at her with lust in her eyes, could not let her eyes linger upon the gentle curving of hips and breasts, nor the folds of flesh just visible through sparse hair. Cassandra was in a desperate hurry to get her naked body against Zanneth's, but the reason for it nearly made her choke with panic.

Now the warrior must tear her own clothing off. Nearby, through the fabric of two tents, Cassandra could hear Leliana doing similarly, undressing herself and her lover so she could share her body heat with the giant mage. Pulling off her boots and leggings, Cassandra lay down beside Zanneth, pulling the elf into her arms, lacing their legs together, getting as much of their skin touching as possible.

Only then did the Right Hand realize how her prayers had been answered. Zanneth was not safe yet, but she was also not dead. She could yet be saved. Perhaps not her frostbitten ear, but… Cassandra's prayers to Andraste and the Maker had been answered. Perhaps to one without faith, it would merely seem a coincidence. But to Cassandra… the silent Maker, who had turned His back upon the disappointment that was Thedas, had _answered her prayers._

"I have you, dear one," she whispered, delicately touching the stiff, frozen skin upon her lover's ear. "I have you, and you will be safe. You came back to me for a reason. Your work is not done. You are not finished with this world, my dear love. You belong to it, and I would have you fulfill whatever destiny calls you to it."

Whisper-soft, Cassandra traced the shell of Zanneth's injured ear, looking upon it in the dim light shining through the tent's canvas. It would need to be amputated, she was sure of it now. Perhaps not the whole thing, but definitely the elegant point of the ear.

"Of all the things… it had to be that which marks you as one of the People. You will look even less elven now, dear one. Even more marked by the Inquisition." Silently, she vowed to do all she could to fill Zanneth's days with love and joy, and to protect her with her own life if she must. Zanneth had been saved twice now by the Maker. The warrior was convinced that the elf, Dalish huntress and Andraste's Herald both, was not done her work in this world.

Why else would the silent Maker interfere and spare her life two separate times?


	46. Restoring Lost Hope

_Red light crackles all around. Wood splinters, the crack resounding through her very being. Metal melts, the heat of it tearing at her flesh. A poor facsimile of a face laughs at her, its putrid breath suffocating her._

_A beloved face with deep scars floats before her, just out of reach._

_Cassandra._

_Before her eyes, it cracks and bleeds, torn in two, a scream cutting deep, down to her very soul._

_Three elven men are before her: Hyune, Sinna, Relarian._

"_You are a fraud," they say, all of their voices mingling. "They think you are the Herald of Andraste. They call you a hero. But you are not. You felt only relief at Sinna's death, at his child's death, at Hyune and Relarian's deaths. You could not save them, and you are __**glad**__ for it. You are a monster. You spread your legs for the human and are __**happy**__ for it. Harlot."_

_Monster, they call her. Harlot. Slut. Betrayer. And they are right. She __**is**__ a monster. A babe's pitiful cry reverberates around her, swallowed at the end by the deep rumble that is Corypheus…_

She awoke with a cry.

"Zanneth! You must calm yourself or you will be hurt!"

"Cassandra?" The elf's voice sounded like a dry croak. Her throat felt afire. She could not seem to see well. She did not know where she was. All she knew was the terror of her dream.

"Yes, dear one. Thank the Maker you are awake."

"Why can't I see?"

Suddenly, light surrounded her, and the air she breathed was fresh and crisp. "Because I had the blanket over our heads. It was imperative to warm you as quickly as possible."

"Warm me…" Hands moved over her naked back. _I am nude. She needed to warm me. I must have been hypothermic. _Cassandra's warm, callused hands roamed over her skin once more, her care clear in the caress. _The last time I saw her, she had just been healed from a metal spike passing clear through her chest._ Zanneth pulled her head back to look upon Cassandra's face.

The warrior wore worry like a second skin. Her brows were furrowed, her cinnamon eyes downturned and focused intently upon Zanneth's, and she was reluctant to release the elf.

Zanneth knew the feeling well. "_Emma lath_," she said, lifting a hand to palm Cassandra's cheek. Tears came unbidden to her eyes, though she did not shed them. "You protected me from the explosion. You were dying, Cassandra. Lying in snow that ran crimson with your blood. Bull had to carry you back. I couldn't… I couldn't…"

"Shhhh, Zanneth. I am fine. Solona healed me beautifully. I am sore, but have a full range of motion. I am all right."

Zanneth nodded. "Yes. I see that."

"And so are _you_," Cassandra said, kissing Zanneth's nose. "I almost lost you to the blizzard. Why were you out in the snow to begin with?"

Zanneth gulped. "I… water. Is there water? My throat…"

The warm body pressing against hers shifted, then disappeared. Zanneth shivered at the loss. Only now did she realize how cold she was. The beige canvas of the tent walls was lit by low sunlight; it was evening. They had never shared a tent like this, lying together, with all this extra room around them. They had never shared a bedroll before. They had only shared a bed for the first time two nights before.

_Only two nights… the world has been put together and torn apart again since that night._

"Here," Cassandra said, and then she was in Zanneth's vision once more, holding a waterskin out. Zanneth took it gratefully, sitting with her lover's help. The water was almost sweet to her parched throat, but she stopped after only a few sips. More might make her vomit.

Cassandra crawled back under the covers after setting the water aside. Her body was blissful warmth, and Zanneth could not help but to nuzzle in again, as deep as the bedding would allow, until only the top of her head was exposed to the crisp air.

"I cannot tell you how good it is to have you awake and moving," Cassandra murmured. Zanneth could feel the woman's breath in her hair. "I was so worried."

"I know, _emma lath._ But I am here now."

Cassandra was quiet for a time, simply holding Zanneth. But finally, she spoke, asking a question she had already asked. "Why were you out in the snow, Zanneth? What _happened_?"

"I…" The memories flashed before her mind's eye, all muddled together. Intense heat, snow, howling wind, red flickering light, and a jagged, intimidating face. "Corypheus…"

Cassadra pulled back, her expression clearly confused. "What?"

Zanneth shivered. "I remember it all. It's…" She shivered again. "A great deal happened after we returned you to the Chantry, Cassandra…"

* * *

_Zanneth awakens with a shout. Her heart races wildly. Blinking to clear her vision, she tries to make sense of her surroundings. Everything is bathed in warm, green light. The walls are ice and rock, as is the ground. Solona lies unconscious next to her. The elf's leggings are in tatters, though still they cling to her skin. Her jacket bears scorch marks._

_She remembers intense heat, and the smell of charred meat._ _ She shudders. That charred flesh must have been her own. She set off the trebuchet and ran for Solona. The mage got up and began to run, but then she shouted. She must have used fire to get them to safety. But what made her pass out? __**There was pain. I was burned. She must have healed me. Perhaps it was too much for her after her altercation?**_

_Blinking again, Zanneth's eyes land upon her hand with its glowing mark. __**He called it the Anchor. **__The face of Corypheus, the scent of his foul breath, the pain of his grip, all flash through Zanneth's mind. Icy terror grips her spine, trickling slowly inward toward her gut. That fiend was so __**horrid**__. Truly, even the demons that spew forth from the rifts are not so horrible as the being she faced. _

_**He opened the Breach. He wished to assault the heavens! He tore the hole into the Beyond so that he might go there and find the throne of the humans' Maker and take it for himself!**_

_Zanneth's head reels. This beast wants her dead, and will kill any and all to do so. His aim is to be a deity for Thedas, one real and tangible, one that cannot be refuted by anyone._

_**I have seen the future in which he succeeds. It is not the blessed day he speaks of.**_

_A shiver runs down Zanneth's spine, this time having nothing to do with her fear. It is dreadfully cold here. And where is here? They aren't buried in snow. But the rock indicates they must be underground. How did they end up here?_

"_I will never know if I stay here and freeze," she murmurs. She is alive. Solona is alive. Cassandra is alive. She must get back, to see Cassandra alive and well._

_Moving will warm her up. She must get moving. But what of Solona? She gives the mage a none-too-gentle shake, to no avail. Holding her hand out so that its light shines ahead of her, Zanneth wills her eyes to pierce the gloom. The light produced by the Anchor is truly quite dim. But it is, at least, __**something**__. She sighs. __**I suppose I must simply pick a direction and go…**_

_Pushing herself to her feet, Zanneth stamps some warmth and limberness back into her arms and legs. She does not know if she can do this, or for how long, but leaving Solona here to die is not an option. She instead slings her bow and quiver over the mage's shoulder, obtains a secure grip, and slides herself beneath the limp warrior-mage. She stands slowly, maintaining her balance with the impossibly tall human slung over her shoulders. It is not so bad. The woman is tall but has not yet regained the bulk of even a lean warrior, weighing about as much as a buck, and Zanneth has carried one of those home in short spurts many times._

_Taking a deep breath, Zanneth picks the tunnel leading off to her right and begins walking, one slow, careful step after another._

_Some time later, the wind howls at the opening of the tunnel, some ways ahead._

_The limp body slung over Zanneth's shoulders begins to shift. Deciding now is as good a time as any for a break, the elf lowers herself to the ground, depositing Solona as gently as she can upon the bare rock and ice. She then relieves the mage of all her weapons, rolling the human onto her back. Sitting upon the ground, Zanneth rolls her aching shoulders, several cracks sounding as she does so. She does not know how long she has carried the arcane warrior. _

_It takes a few minutes, but finally Solona's quivering eyelids snap open, her head lifts, and pale grey eyes find Zanneth's in the soft light of the Anchor._

"_It's good to see you awake." Zanneth smiles, a small thing that just barely pulls at her lips. She is exhausted. "Rather a poor time to take a nap, however."_

_Solona, not missing a beat, lets out a snort of laughter, rubbing her hand through her hair as she pushes herself into a sit. "Sleep is a fickle mistress. Sometimes she offers her services at the most inconvenient of times. I have little willpower when a willing lady welcomes me to her warm bosom."_

_Zanneth's cheeks immediately bloom with heat. "How is it you jest of such things __**now**__?!"_

_A hand waves in her direction. "I'm sorry. I forget that it's all new to you. I can make light of such things at any time because, at almost any time, I am __**thinking**__ of such comforts." She shakes her head, blinking several times before her eyes focus on the elf. "It didn't hurt that I was having a rather vivid dream of Leliana."_

"_Right. Well. I… thank you, for saving us. What… happened?"_

_Solona pushes herself to her feet, stamping and clapping her hands a few times as Zanneth had done earlier. She was covered from head to toe, but only in a single layer. "I sensed we were close to these tunnels, and the first solution that came to mind was flame. The heat sank us through the snow bank in just enough time to avoid the leading edge of the avalanche. Unfortunately, it injured you rather badly. I fixed you, but then I lost consciousness." She got a curious look as she continued. "Something about that device Corypheus held… It was __**crippling**__. Pain shot through my limbs, and I was simultaneously weak. It cut me off from the Fade by… __**leeching**__ my power. My magic as well as my human energy."_

_Zanneth furrowed her brows, confused. "Human… energy?"_

"_Not __**human**__ per se, but… non-magic. My arcane magic is at its most potent when I am well-rested and energetic. It is at its weakest when I am exhausted. It heals my body, but it can only match what my body can provide. I am a vessel for the power, and if my vessel is weak or poorly maintained, I am unable to hold much power. That device sapped me of both kinds of energy. So when I tried channeling the energy of the Fade in order to heal you… I could not hold much. Certainly not enough to maintain my hold upon consciousness. I have not felt that sapped of energy since the power first revealed itself to me."_

_Zanneth nods. "I can't make much sense of that, but I think I understand what I need to. Do you feel better now?"_

"_I can walk under my own power, if that's what you mean." The mage narrows her eyes in thought. "It would be unwise to attempt to use that form of magic again until we're in a safe place." She looks out toward the end of the tunnel and the howling white snow, and back the way they have come. "Did you really carry me all that way?"_

"_I'm a hunter," Zanneth shrugs, pushing herself back to her feet. Everything is sore, and her neck cracks several times as she carefully rolls it. "Besides. I wasn't going to leave you to freeze. You woke up just in time though. I do not fancy carrying you in a blizzard."_

_Solona smiles, but only for a moment. "Ought we to wait out the storm? We might freeze out there."_

"_We might freeze in __**here**__." Zanneth rubs her hands together. The Anchor, at least, is very warm, helping to keep her hands a safe temperature. Reaching up, she rubs at the points of her ears. They are so cold she can barely feel them. She will need to be careful._

"_True," Solona nods. She holds out Zanneth's bow and quiver. "But we have no food or water, and while snow is easily melted over a fire, we have no means to make one of those – I can't just magic one into being, lest I pass out again. We have no blankets to keep warm as we walk."_

"_This tunnel is covered in ice, and does not present the opportunity to warm ourselves with exercise nor to move closer to the rest of the Inquisition. But the blizzard might also sap us of our strength," Zanneth agrees, nodding as she takes her weapons. "Both options are grim."_

"_I say we make a go of it," Solona says after a moment's further pondering. "They won't come looking for us, and if they do, they won't be looking in the right place – we may be the only ones alive aware of these tunnels. This blizzard could last for __**days**__."_

_Cassandra's face floats before Zanneth's mind's eye. "And perhaps they are not so far away from here," she offers, daring to hope._

_Solona grins, an expression Zanneth has come to expect on the mage's face. "Yes. Perhaps you are right." She looks up, toward the mouth to the tunnel. "They headed north. So when we emerge, I shall find the north star, and we'll follow it's pull."_

"_You can do that without seeing it?"_

"_It's a good trick I learned during the Blight."_

_Zanneth nods. "All right. Yes. Let us go. The faster we move, the warmer we'll be, and the quicker we may find our companions."_

_Without another word, the two women turn and set off, jogging for the tunnel opening._

* * *

"It got too cold, though, so we built a snow cave."

Leliana frowned. "That was also too cold, given you were both hypothermic when we found you."

Solona's face flushed. She didn't bother speaking as she signed. Leliana's eyes could only focus one place. _{Yes, I know. But I still think I was right. Nobody knew where we were. If we had stayed in that tunnel, we still would have ended up hypothermic, but without any shred of hope that we would be found.}_

Pursing her lips, Leliana nodded. _{I'm not happy, but I think you're right.}_

_They sat quietly for a moment, holding each other's gazes, before Solona spoke once more. {I need to eat something, my love. I'm famished. And besides that, the sooner my energy is restored, the sooner I can heal myself and can examine the Herald.}_

Leliana pushed herself to her feet, holding out a hand to help Solona do so, as well. "Yes, all right."

Leliana found herself wrapped in Solona's warm embrace as soon as the mage was on her feet. She yelped, but surrendered quickly, letting her own naked body melt into her lover's. Feeling that embrace with strength in it, instead of the limp, unconscious form she had held all day, did wonders for Leliana's heart. She did not need voice it, however, instead merely taking a moment to bask.

"Thank you," Solona said as they parted, looking down into Leliana's eyes. "Thank you for letting me go, and trusting me to come back. And thank you for helping me return."

Leliana smirked. "You are welcome. I knew if I put my naked body against yours, nothing could keep you away from me, my love." Solona grinned, and then Leliana felt a pinch on her bare rump. She yelped, pushing the mage away with a slap to the arm. "Wicked creature!" she breathed, flinging Solona's leggings at her.

Their levity did not last, however. As they approached the cookfire and received stew from Mother Giselle, it was clear some kind of argument was going on. Cullen and Revka were toe-to-toe, Josephine looked on in shock, and Ser Cauthrien kept an eye on the proceedings as if she expected it to come to blows.

"What do they say, Solona?"

_{They argue over what we are to do next. Perhaps this news of Corypheus will set their priorities in order,}_ the mage signed as they walked.

As Leliana approached, she began to be able to read lips.

"What is the _point_, Revka?! There is nothing for them out here! Winter approaches!"

"If we do not maintain order, we will get nothing _done_, Cullen!"

Solona began signing as she spoke. "Please, stop fighting!" she called out.

Revka broke from her husband, running and flinging her arms around her sister's neck. Next, she hugged Leliana to her. The spymaster did not miss how Cullen stood back, eyeing them warily.

"I know who the Elder One is," Solona began, signing for Leliana's benefit. "I-"

"It matters not who he is," Cullen said, eyes narrowed. "We cannot do anything on the side of this mountain! We have nowhere to go, little food, and winter approaches!" His eyes snapped to Leliana. "And you! Why did you not know this massive army approached?! Where were your scouts? Where was your intelligence? We were taken completely off guard!"

Leliana's anger flared to life immediately. "Excuse me? Where were _my_ scouts? Where were _yours_, Commander? Where was _your_ intelligence? That's right. You pulled in all your soldiers for the closing of the Breach, just as I did with those informants I kept in the woods. We needed all the help we could find, Commander. As you well know!"

Solona's hand appeared on Leliana's arm, staying her before she could march up to Cullen and deliver a punishing slap to his face.

"We were _all_ caught with our pants down, Cullen," Solona said, using her brand of colorful language even in the most serious of discussions. "That matters not now. We must rebuild, redouble our efforts. We know who our enemy is now, but not how to defeat him. He is darkspawn…"

Leliana's attention drifted away from Cullen as Solona began to explain who Corypheus was and how she knew – her cousin, and for a time fellow Grey Warden, Bethany Hawke. Her gaze came to land on Revka, next to her. Something seemed off.

"Revka?" she said, getting the young woman's attention. "What's wrong?"

"I feel… I'm not sure. Something…" She stumbled, nearly falling over.

"Revka!" Leliana shouted, catching the woman and lowering her to the ground. "Solona, quickly!"

When Solona did not immediately appear, Leliana finally looked up to see Cullen shouting.

"You shall not inject your power into my child!"

_Ah_, Leliana thought to herself, repositioning her grip on her surrogate sister. _So that is what his fear of Solona is about_._ Old habits and ways of thinking die hard, clearly._

Solona blinked a few times before answering. "Excuse me? What is it you think I'll be doing?"

"Cullen, really!" Revka looked up from Leliana's arms and fixed him with an utterly perplexed expression. "What in the world has gotten into you?"

"You are already at risk for giving our children magic, Revka," he said, brows furrowed as he looked down upon her. "Who knows what her unique powers will do? What they might… _awaken_."

Revka's expression became calculating. "I see. And what _exactly_ will you do if our child _does_ have magic?"

He remained silent.

"Well, Revka, I know you said he's changed, that he's a different man from the one I remember, but I'm barely seeing a difference." Solona eyed his missing arm pointedly. Clearly, she suggested that the only difference was that he was short an appendage.

Revka frowned. "_I'm_ seeing a difference. And I don't like it." She pursed her lips up at Cullen. "If you won't come to your _collapsed wife's side_, Cullen, at least let my _sister_ do so."

Solona was at her side a heartbeat later. Her eyes were already glowing as she looked to Leliana. "Here's hoping I don't pass out this time…"

* * *

Mother Giselle sat near the cookfire. She had already fed the arcane warrior, the former Grey Warden. That woman now stood some ways away, arguing with the two ambassadors and the commander and sub-commander of the Inquisition's forces. The spymaster, too, was with them, though Giselle noticed she did not say much. _It is likely difficult to do so with so many hot heads around her, deaf as she is_. The Commander's wife, also the assistant to their chief diplomat, Ambassador Montilyet, was doing better. She had collapsed due to the strenuous activity with no sleep or food since the night before. It was understandable. She was now seated nearby her companions, watching them argue, fussed over by the spymaster.

Night was upon the Inquisition. It had taken all day to warm and awaken the Herald and the arcane warrior. Now, the Herald sat near her, with Seeker Pentaghast, eating her first meal in more than a day. The Seeker hovered nearby, watching the argument, but unwilling to leave the Herald's side. They were lovers now. Giselle could tell. She may have taken a vow of celibacy, but she had been in this world many years, and had a life outside the Chantry before taking her vows. She knew love when she saw it.

The Herald began to find her feet. Giselle placed her hand on the elf's arm, furrowing her brows at the young woman. "You should rest, child," she said, examining her. The Herald's right ear had obvious signs of frostbite, but now that she was warm and awake, huddled under a heavy cloak, the immediate danger was gone. Sometime soon the damaged parts of her ear would need to be amputated, but it was not something that needed attention this night. Somewhere clean was necessary, where she could drink whiskey for the pain and rest in a proper bed and not a roll of blankets upon the hard ground. The pain was not so bad, however, as any feeling was long-dead. Fortunate in some ways, but it meant gangrene might set in soon.

"They've been at it for hours," the Herald responded, her dark brown eyes looking out at the advisors of the Inquisition once more.

"They have that luxury, thanks to _you_," Giselle said, removing her hand when it was clear the elf would heed her. "The enemy did not follow, _could_ not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to _blame_."

"Infighting may threaten us as much as Corypheus," Seeker Pentaghast mused, turning her back on the argument.

"Indeed, I was thinking similarly," Giselle said, nodding.

"Do we know where Corypheus is?" the Herald asked, looking to the Seeker.

"No. We do not know where _we_ are."

"Which may be why," Giselle said, "despite his numbers, there is no sign of him." She paused. "That, or you are believed dead. Or without Haven, we are thought helpless."

"Which is the main crux of that argument out there." Seeker Pentaghast wandered closer. "And I admit I see everyone's points. Solona is frantic to take care of Corypheus. She knows of him from her cousin, Warden Hawke. I have never before seen her so _afraid_ of anything. But this magister… Josephine and Revka wish us to maintain the order of the Inquisition, because without order, what can a force this size do? Aside from his personal quarrel with Solona, Cullen cannot see anything beyond our seemingly hopeless circumstances out here. A mountaintop, as winter is approaching.

"He is right, Mother Giselle," the Seeker said, turning a frown upon her. "What are we to do here, now? We evacuated Haven, but there is still little hope. We will freeze before we find a solution, especially with everyone so divided."

Giselle had no answer. She watched as the Seeker's eyes drained of what hope she had held onto, and then as the warrior turned, wandering away from the cookfire and the argument both. _She got her love back alive. Now she wonders if she can __**keep**__ her alive. The poor woman._

The Herald made to get to her feet, but again Giselle stilled her. "Hold, please, Your Worship. She prays, you see? She does not require you to believe as she does, but neither should you interfere when she communes with Andraste and the Maker."

The Herald sat once more.

"We struggle because of what we survivors witnessed," Giselle began. She had a delicate thing to weave, and with a nonbeliever as her audience on top of it. Perhaps if Zanneth had been an elf of the cities, living among humans, this would be simpler; or if she were human herself. But alas, she was not, and her willingness to believe in a faith that was not her own, in a Chantry which, to her eyes, had only encouraged acts of violence against her people, was nonexistent. Giselle could not make this about faith. She had to make it about what other people _already_ believed, because of what they had _seen_.

"What did you see?"

Giselle's brown eyes locked upon the Herald's. "Our defenders stood, and fell, and then returned. Just as they saw you with a woman of pure light pushing you through the rift and into our hands. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear. And the more our trials seem ordained."

"I didn't die," the Herald said, eyes narrowed. "We survived the avalanche. We almost died out on the mountainside, but it was not because of some divine intervention that we lived. What the people saw was my very mortality."

"Of course _I_ know this. But memory is a fickle thing, and the Maker works both in the moment, and how that moment is remembered. I would argue that the people saw what they _needed_ to see, desperate as our situation is."

The elf sat quietly for a moment. Giselle nearly spoke again. Weaving her argument was such a delicate thing. She could not push too hard, or the elf would reject her. But if she did not push hard enough, her point would never be seen by the one they most desperately needed to see it.

Finally, the Herald spoke. "Mother Giselle, I… I just don't see how what I believe matters. No matter how the people see my return, Corypheus is a real, physical threat. He actively wants me dead, and he will trample over everyone here in order to do so. Even if hope is restored… we can't match that threat with hope alone."

The Herald found her feet then, taking several steps away from Giselle. The Chantry Mother watched her flock flailing in the dark all around her: the group arguing over what to do instead of working together to _actually_ find a solution; the Seeker on her knees by her tent, seeking guidance from Andraste through prayer; the Herald, standing alone and looking up at the stars, seeking guidance from her own gods, or perhaps her ancestors.

All of them, even those who did not believe in the Maker by name, were her flock, and she was failing them. She failed to make the Herald see. She failed to offer hope to the Seeker. And she was failing the group arguing in the distance. They were now quiet, not looking at each other. The arcane warrior and Sister Leliana spoke silently in their special way. The commander and his pregnant wife did not touch each other, arguing in harsh whispers about his earlier outbreak. In every direction, people were isolated, alone, frightened, and utterly without hope.

She did not know what sparked the idea, but after several minutes spent studying the tableau before her, Mother Giselle stood and walked to the Herald's side. "Stand with me," she whispered.

Then, she opened her mouth to the heavens, and she began to sing.

A song of lost hope, found with the dawn. She sang alone, but it was loud enough to be heard. Servants and soldiers, men and women, human and elf, all joined her call, and to Giselle's delight, one by one, they came to stand before the Herald.

And then they all surpassed her hope for them, and, one after another, they took a knee, pledging themselves to the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste. Leliana, not singing but beaming from the very energy around her, took a knee. The arcane warrior took a knee. Commander Rutherford, hand-in-hand with Ambassador Amell, took a knee, singing loud enough to be heard by the Revered Mother. Soon everyone was on their knees, singing to the Herald, even the Seeker, who minutes before had been hopeless and praying to the Maker for a solution, for some small sliver of hope in their desperate situation.

Perhaps Andraste answered Cassandra through Giselle. Stranger things had happened.

As the final lines of the song echoed around them, Giselle whispered the point she had been attempting to make to the Herald. "An army needs more than an enemy, Herald." She caught the elf's dark eyes. "It needs a cause."

* * *

_A/N: A word on Cullen. I don't actually hate him. But it seemed to me that he would still hold some resentment toward Solona **specifically**_ _and also probably toward mages in general, even if he's not immediately post-Circle madness anymore. He's got some growing to do, still, essentially._

_I also had a great deal of fun having Mother Giselle step in for this scene instead of Zanneth. _

_Also, in case anyone is confused, in my headcanon Bethany became a Warden, specifically of Ferelden, and had some overlap with Solona while she was the Commander of the Grey. That will come into play later, in future fic(s). But, just for clarity's sake, I figured I'd put that out there now._

_All right, that's it. I hope you enjoyed!_


	47. The Inquisitor is Made

_A/N: Hello! Shall I reintroduce myself? Yes. I think I shall. Formerly Drummerchick7, I decided to change my fanfiction handle so I could streamline all my writing to be under the pseudonym I eventually hope to publish under. Nothing else has changed, I assure you._

_All right, that's it for now, more after the chapter._

* * *

Bull watched from a distance as Zanneth stood atop the rise, looking out over the Inquisition spread below her. She was so small up there, all alone. He understood why she was up there, thinking, but it also bothered him. She was so exposed, and after so recently recovering from hypothermia and frostbite, on top of it. Cassandra was close by, though, looking up at Zanneth as he did, clearly keeping an eye on her. Both of them had done so from the moment of the attack from Threnn months before.

That moment not an hour before, when everyone was singing and bowing to the Herald, that moment of hope restored… Bull could tell the little elf had a lot to think about. Anyone would, after such a display. She was more and more their leader. But she seemed on the cusp as far as accepting such a role. She had doubts. Bull would, in her shoes. Especially with the religious tone of all of it. This wasn't just a group of refugees anymore. Mother Giselle had changed that. This was an army with a holy purpose. Even many of his own people seemed to believe.

Normally that would scare the shit out of Bull. But with Zanneth at the lead, tempering the zealotry, nonbeliever that she was, it was actually palatable. And the fervor could be useful. They had a job to do. Hopefully, peoples' conviction would mean they were less likely to falter.

Bull hummed low in his throat. They needed more direction if they were to proceed forward with finding and _ending_ Corypheus. Zanneth could provide it, he knew she could, she just needed a little bit more convincing. This required an intervention from another source.

"Hey, Seeker," he called, getting Cassandra's attention. She turned, brows knit in interest and annoyance. Only the Seeker could pull off both in one expression.

"Yes?"

He marched over, pulling his cloak around his bare shoulders as he went. The evacuation from Haven had been hasty. They hadn't had time to grab much. Krem had left his armor behind, taking only his sword and shield, making him look a lot smaller than normal. It was true of his entire company. Armor was left behind in favor of weapons, food, and as many cloaks and blankets as could be found. When you only had a handful of minutes to grab what was needed to survive out in the elements, you were forced to prioritize rather harshly. Blankets, food, and weapons won over armor, especially when speed was a factor.

"I had a thought, and I think I need to share it with the advisors."

Cassandra eyed him even more curiously. "And what was that thought?"

"No," Bull said, giving his head a quick shake. "Everyone needs to hear it." When she raised a brow at him, he elaborated. "Can't look like it came from you. As the Herald of Andraste's lover, and all."

Cassandra immediately flushed a deep red and turned, marching toward the other advisors. Bull snickered to himself and followed.

"Bull needs to speak with us," the Seeker said without preamble, crossing her arms and looking to the qunari. Everything about her demeanor was expectant.

"Oh?" Cullen said, turning from his wife and the ambassador, Josephine. "What's going on?"

"I'll get straight to the point," Bull said, crossing his arms over his massive chest. "We need a leader. Someone to make the tough decisions, someone for all of you to _advise_, since, you know, you're advisors. And it should be Zanneth."

To his surprise, it was Josephine who responded first. "Oh, that is an idea!" she announced, nearly bouncing with her enthusiasm. "The first Inquisition had an Inquisitor, though not much is known of him. We already look to the Herald for decisions when we cannot come to a consensus! We should name her our Inquisitor!"

"But… she is not of our world," Ser Cauthrien said, brows furrowed. "Would it not be detrimental to throw a Dalish elf at human politics? For us _and_ for her?"

"On the contrary," the Hero of Ferelden, Solona, said. "It injects a fresh perspective the rest of us lack." Bull did not miss how Cauthrien and Solona seemed somewhat… at odds. _There's a history there I'm not familiar with_, he thought to himself.

"I agree," the assistant ambassador said. _What's her name? I should know. She's Solona's sister and Cullen's wife, for fuck's sake_._ Rhia… Redna… Revka! Okay, good, I'm not losing my touch._ "The more perspectives we can offer to the Inquisition, the better. We are no nation, with no ruler. An Inquisitor would not rule, but she would dictate the course of the Inquisition's actions. The Herald has proved herself true to our cause, possibly more than any one of us. She went through the horrors of Redcliffe, came back to close the Breach, and then ventured forth with little help to face Corypheus in order to save us all. She has _earned_ our trust, and, I would argue, our faith in her ability to lead us."

"I couldn't agree more," Solona said. "I went with her to protect her, but in reality, it was _she_ who saved _me_. Had she not been there, I would surely have perished, whereas if _I_ had not be there, she may have performed even more admirably. I have finally met my match, and it is Corypheus."

"I thought you would have wished to lead this yourself, Warden," Cullen said, his voice not quite hiding a small sulk. Bull was intrigued. _More history I don't know_.

"Stop acting as though you know me, Commander," she retorted, narrowing her eyes at him. "And do not call me that. I left the Order years ago, and have recently discovered that I no longer bear the taint."

"It wouldn't be a terrible idea," Bull interjected, bringing the focus back on him and away from whatever pissing match Solona and Cullen were in the middle of. "You did well during the Blight."

"This is no archdemon, Bull," she said, grey eyes finding his. "I cannot kill him. I cannot do _anything_ with him near – he can leech my magic away from me. It is why he had Alexius capture me in the first place, so that he might have use of my power. You do not need a leader who is unable to face your enemy."

"True," he conceded. He had known it from the beginning, but others needed to know why it could only be Zanneth. "Look, as far as I can see, Zanneth has already been our de facto leader. Just… make it official, and start treating her like the Inquisitor. She's quiet and stoic – that'll look like whatever you want it to look like to the people."

"Making her our leader will only draw her under more ire from… _everyone_." This was Cassandra, frown firmly in place. "By leaving our leadership muddled to the outside, we actually protect her."

"Yeah, but our leadership is muddled on the _inside_, which does nobody any good," Bull retorted, uncrossing his arms and letting them fall to his sides. "We just run around, tripping on everybody's dicks and nothing gets _done_."

It took Bull a moment to realize why everyone looked at him with shock. Well, all except Solona, who snorted a laugh and shook her head in amusement, murmuring the words "mercenary captain" and "fun at court."

"Yes, well. Colorful language aside…" Josephine gave Bull a look somewhere between disapproval and amusement. He just grinned, unrepentant. "I agree with The Iron Bull. We need leadership. We have far too many people trying to share the mantle at the moment. We need to do what we do best - advise - and leave the decision-making to a single, solitary person. And it should be the person who the decisions will affect the most. Let us give the Herald some agency in all this, and not make decisions about her, _for_ her."

She looked around, as did Bull. Everyone nodded to him, even Cassandra, though she looked dubious.

"Excellent," Bull said, clapping his massive hands together. "Now the other thing. As our leader, Zanneth needs protection. We can't trust the regular soldiers around her without people she _trusts_, people who have proven themselves. Unless we want a repeat of the attack that gave her that scar on her cheek."

"You have not left her side, and neither have I," Cassandra said, bristling. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing," Bull retorted, narrowing his one eye at the Seeker. "But even with you and me there, she's seen more than her fair share of injuries for an _archer_. She needs more protection. She needs a _visible_ circle of warriors who people would think twice about trying to break through to get to her. Who are friends, even confidantes, as well as her protectors, who exist outside of the influence of politics."

"An inner circle," Cauthrien said, nodding. "Like the King's Guard. People vetted, with a personal interest in her and her safety. People she knows and who cannot be impersonated." She eyed Bull. "I take it you have some members of the Inquisition in mind?"

Bull nodded. "I do. Let me talk to 'em, and then I'll bring it to you for approval."

They all nodded, seeming to agree. Cassandra still seemed a little hurt, but Bull knew that would change soon. "Hey, Cassandra, come with me," he said, turning and heading for the line of tents set up for the survivors of Haven once it was clear he was dismissed.

"What, Bull? You have already insulted me. What more could you want?"

"I wasn't insulting you, Seeker. Look. Since you and Zanneth are…" Somehow he didn't think she would appreciate it if he finished with "fucking," so at the last minute he changed tack. "… _involved_, you would need to bow out as an advisor anyway, right?"

Cassandra nodded. "Yes. It would be inappropriate otherwise."

"Good. So be part of her inner circle, her protector, like you _already are_. In fact, be _in charge_ of her inner circle, at least as far as tactics and protecting is concerned. Or let me, whatever you think is best. We both have leadership experience." _We're also both old enough to have grown children, unlike all the babies I have in mind_, he added to himself, chuckling internally.

Cassandra was quiet a moment as they walked. Eventually, however, she spoke, her tone back to normal, no more hints of having been slighted. "I already thought of myself as her protector, ever since the attack by Threnn in Haven. She trusted me more than anyone else even then, before either of us knew of our feelings."

"It's true, she did. You stayed with her that whole night. Good of you. I couldn't have done that."

He felt Cassandra's hand on his forearm, and he stopped, turning to look down at her.

"You know _all_ that happened that night, don't you?" she asked, her tone a harsh whisper. Her eyes were on his ears.

He understood immediately, of course. "My hearing is almost as good as _hers_ is, Seeker. Yeah, I know she miscarried. And I'm glad she had you there. I volunteered to guard the door, but there's no way I would've been any use to her during that."

Cassandra continued to glare at him. "You have told no one?"

"Hell no! Why would I do that? That's _her_ business."

Cassandra seemed mollified by his answer. "See that you keep it that way." Straightening her shoulders, she changed the subject. "Now. Who did you have in mind for this inner circle?"

Bull grinned. "Almost everyone you don't like. Let's go."

* * *

Zanneth stood at the crest of the rise currently sheltering the entirety of the Inquisition. Splayed before her were the survivors of Haven.

"Too few," Zanneth whispered to herself, feeling tears prickling at her eyes. Too few had escaped Haven. Too many had perished during the initial attack. Too many had lost their lives. Not enough had made it through the blizzard to this sheltered spot. Not enough, because the fact that _anyone_ had died while Corypheus tried to claw his way to Zanneth was too many in her eyes.

As she observed those gathered below her, Zanneth frowned. If he were here, Corypheus would demolish _every living soul_ in order to get to the elven Herald. They were not safe while she was near.

_Perhaps I should leave_, she thought. _All of these people are endangered with me here. I could leave, and Corypheus would be drawn away, away from these people and their children. Away from my friends._

_Away from Cassandra._

It was her brother Hyune's voice that played in her head, softly chiding her. _Lethallan, that is much too simplistic. You know very well that Cassandra would leave; would come looking for you, and drag you back to safety. She even said the only reason she did not do so after she awoke was because she did not have the strength to protest._

Zanneth smiled ruefully, thinking of Cassandra with her arse in the snow after trying to punch Bull. _That is true. She would. What if we left together? It would increase my odds of survival._ The idea of having the Seeker to herself out in the woods, just the two of them, was also appealing.

_Yes, but not your odds of __**success**__,_ Hyune's voice countered. _You are the one Corypheus wants. Whether or not you have some special power to defeat him, __**he believes you do**__. It is why he hunts you. If you left now, with only Cassandra to protect you… you would perish. __**She**__ would perish. The Inquisition protects you __**both**__._

Zanneth sighed. It was a short internal argument, but it was important. Her reasons for leaving were different, but the inclination was still there. She had found a home within the Inquisition, but now these people looked to her for guidance. Her actions seemed even more divine to them than before. Her mere presence gave them hope. Could she truly crush that hope by abandoning them? They would not see that she did it to save them.

_Why is Solona not also sharing some of this? She went against Corypheus, as well. She survived and came back, as well._

The answer came to her as she looked upon the Anchor. _She is not the Herald. She is a hero, the Hero of Ferelden, but her actions are not divine. And besides that, she is a mage. Reviled by some. Revered by others. But either way, her success can be attributed to magic. __**They know it is not divine**__._

It was ridiculous. Zanneth was not divine. But she knew how her people would react if they thought Mythal had come back to them in some form. No amount of insisting she was not Andraste's Herald would do her any good. And she could not leave. The only thing she could hope to do was to find any excuse to go out with patrols, to minimize the collateral damage when she was attacked.

For she would be attacked. Over and over again. She was a target now. The Anchor marked her as such. And Corypheus would not stop until either she was dead, or he was.

_And I have seen the future in which he succeeds in making me disappear. He will find some other way to open the Breach, to fill the world with red lyrium, and destroy everything and everyone I have come to cherish. _

A group broke away from the camp below her, heading in her direction, breaking Zanneth from her reverie. It was obvious from a distance that it was led by Bull and Cassandra, several others in their wake. Bull she recognized because he was so large, and Cassandra she would recognize anywhere. The sounds of her footfalls were familiar by now, and the elf's sensitive ears could hear them even from this distance.

Zanneth took a moment as she watched the group in the distance, lifting her hand and feeling the outer shell of her right ear. She was told it was a deep purple, and would be black in the next few days. Blisters would appear soon, and they would be filled with blood. She could not feel her own hand touching the tip of her ear. It was like touching another's flesh. But it did not hurt. It had never hurt, even as it was happening. The nerves were dead, her ability to feel _anything_ at the tip of her ear completely gone. Further down, there was pain, a great deal of it in fact. And it would increase with those blisters. It would be many weeks before her ear could be amputated.

Plenty of time to become accustomed to the idea of losing it, and that ear's ability to hear well.

_Every piece of me that belonged to the People is gone_, Zanneth realized, her heart falling. _I lost my parents when I was young. My brother, my betrothed, my child – all gone from this world, gone from my life. Cassandra spoke of the small spots on my face that are clear of the __**vallaslin**__. And now this… the pointed tip of my ear._ It was not that she was particularly attached to the appearance of her pointed ears. But it marked her visually as one of the People. And more than that, she depended upon her superior hearing on the hunt. Being unable to hunt… it was the last thing that she carried with her from her people. That and her mother's hunting jacket.

_You will survive this_, she told herself. Leliana's red hair, her smile, her crystal-blue eyes, flashed through her mind. _If Leliana can still aim, still hunt, still throw me to the ground, then I can relearn how to do this with only limited hearing on one side._

She frowned. _Stop pitying yourself, Zanneth. You are lucky to be alive, to be returned to your love. She does not care for the change that is to come, and neither should you._

By the time the small group reached her, Zanneth was sure in her resolve. She would persevere, she would move through this, and even if she did not feel the hope herself, she would do all she could to help these people who did so much to protect her and keep her safe.

The group was made of those she had come to know and trust to some degree: Cassandra, Bull, Varric, Sera, Dorian, Vivienne, and Solas. Each one of them had joined the Inquisition _with_ her, personally, and each of them had risked their lives for her at one point or another.

Dorian and the Herald had not spoken overmuch since Redcliffe, but every time they exchanged glances, Zanneth recognized the haunting shadows behind his eyes. He was deeply moved by what he had seen in that ominous future. That he had Fiona back, that Solona was not dead but alive, only seemed to have strengthened his resolve. She could see it in the shadow that ever lurked behind his constant cheer.

"Hello," Zanneth greeted, nodding to each of them as they arrayed themselves in a semicircle around her. How odd. "What's… going on?"

"Zanneth, we have a proposal for you," Cassandra said, stiffer than she usually was when it was just the two of them. Zanneth understood. Intimate greetings were for privacy. Right now, before the others, they were not lovers but colleagues out on a hunt. The elf knew how this worked.

"What is it?" Zanneth asked, taking Cassandra's cue and keeping their interactions professional.

"We want to protect you, Boss," Bull said. "The seven of us will be your inner circle, venturing with you and acting as a buffer between you and everyone else. We're trusted by the Inquisition, you know each of us personally to some degree, and each of us has done something to keep you safe."

"To varying degrees of success," Varric quipped, getting him a smack from Cassandra, a glare from Vivienne, but a chuckle from both herself and Bull. "What? It's true, Seeker – she's _mostly_ not dead."

The look of guilt and pain that crossed over Cassandra's face nearly tore Zanneth's heart in two. "But I didn't die," she said, managing to catch Cassandra's eyes. "I am alive and well." Cassandra nodded. She understood. They would speak later, but she understood that Zanneth was speaking to her, and saw the pain and guilt living in the Seeker's heart.

"Well, we figure if we all do it together, then we stand a better chance. Then _you_ stand a better chance," Bull said, hooking his thumbs into his belt.

"I… shall think on it," Zanneth said. Honestly, she had so _much_ to think on, it was threatening to overwhelm her. At this point she simply wished to _sleep_.

"Oh no, darling, you misunderstand," Vivienne said, smiling in that vague way she did. It always made Zanneth feel like she was being treated as a simpleton. "We are not asking permission, dear Herald. We are _informing_ you of a decision the seven of us have made. It was truly a marvelous idea from The Iron Bull. He is not so dim-witted as his bulk would suggest. I see now why he makes a good spy for his people. We will be accompanying you, protecting you, and providing some distance between yourself and the common rabble. It is important to maintain this, Your Worship – you are the Herald of Andraste, not a common peasant."

Zanneth furrowed her brows and opened her mouth to retort, but Sera beat her to it. "Hey! The little people are the backs you stand on, Miss Prissy-Pants!" the elf shouted, getting _very_ close to Vivienne. "We're not doin' this t' make th' divide 'tween us 'n you _bigger_!"

"Indeed," Vivienne said, literally looking down her nose at Sera.

Sera made a frustrated sound and turned to Zanneth, marching right up to her. "Tha's what you want, tell me now. 'Cuz I'm _done_ if tha's how this is, right?"

Zanneth reached out, placing her hand on Sera's shoulder. As much as she did not understand living in a city among humans, she understood Sera's desire to help the lowest of the low. These hierarchies did not exist amongst the Dalish. All were equal, and contributed equally. The social hierarchy in the world of humans was… difficult to understand.

"That's not how this is, Sera. I didn't march out to face Corypheus to help the big people get bigger. Neither did Solona. You know her better than that. I faced Corypheus because it would save lives. _Everyone's_ lives."

Sera held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Righ'. Protect th' Herald. And the next time I get th' chance, I piss in Miss Prissy-Pants' mornin' cereal," she whispered, only loud enough for their sensitive elven ears.

Zanneth couldn't help but smile, and Sera giggled. Then, completely unexpected, Sera threw her arms around Zanneth's neck, pulling her into a fierce hug. "Thanks fer not getting' ideas 'bout bein' high 'n mighty just 'cuz yer the Herald." Then she was gone, marching back down to the camp.

"I thought you were involved with the Seeker," Dorian mused, winking at her. "Does she share well? Or will we see a showdown later between Cassandra and Sera?"

"What do you say, Boss?" Bull asked loudly, speaking over Cassandra, who had immediately turned a deep shade of red at Dorian's words. He also threw a backhanded slap into Dorian's chest, stumbling the man. "This work for you?"

Zanneth looked upon those arrayed around her. They wished to be ever at her side, to protect her from other people as well as from Corypheus. _This is my chance. We can go out together and face his agents away from the others. We can close rifts, and draw Corypheus away from the rest of the Inquisition. This is perfect._ Her eyes found Cassandra's as she thought on their proposal. _And we will be together at all times._

_Yes. Yes, this is the answer_.

"Yes, I accept. But I'm not in charge of making sure everyone gets along," she said with a smirk.

Bull chuckled. "No. That'll be _my_ job."

"Yours?"

Cassandra was the one who answered. "He suggested _me_ at first, but I tire of it already, and we have not even begun. I refused. Bull was the next logical choice. He runs a company. I am a warrior, but I am no commander of any number of forces. Seekers are not soldiers. They work alone, or with their apprentices."

Zanneth nodded. "Makes sense. All right. I… would be honored to spend my time with all of you. And I am humbled that you would spend your time and talents in keeping me safe and… well, being my friends."

Bull clapped a mighty hand over her shoulder, causing her knees to nearly give out. "Sure thing, Boss. Sure thing."

Amidst the general noises of approval, Solas took several steps toward her. "Herald," he said, ending his silence. "A word?"

Zanneth nodded her assent, dismissing herself and walking away from the group with him.

"How is your ear?" he asked once they were some distance from the others.

Zanneth shrugged. "It is mostly painless. I imagine that will change in the coming weeks, but… I am lucky to be alive. I can take a little pain."

"Yes, true. But for one of the People to lose a piece of their heritage… well, for what it is worth, _lethallan_… I am sorry it must be amputated."

Zanneth knit her brows at his use of the Dalish diminutive. She let it go, however. He may not be Dalish, but he was elven, and clearly knew much of their lost lore. Possibly more than her grandmother. Those words did not only belong to Zanneth.

"I will be fine, but… thank you."

"The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting," Solas said, continuing to walk slowly through the snow. "Mother Giselle's faith in you is hard-won, worthy of pride. Save for one detail… The Orb you described Corypheus carrying? It is ours."

This piqued Zanneth's curiosity. "Oh? What is it?"

"Corypheus used the Orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave." Solas paused, halting his steps and looking out over the moonlit snow below. "We must find out how he survived, and we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn the Orb is of our people."

"But… how do you know about it?"

"Such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon." Solas turned to face her, looking down to hold her gaze with his own. "All that remains are references in ruins, and faint visions of memory in the Fade, echoes of a dead empire. But however Corypheus came to it, the Orb _is_ elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith."

Solas reached out, the tip of his finger ever-so-softly tracing the scar on her face, a souvenir of Threnn's attack. "The evidence of their fickleness lies clear on your face for all to see, _lethallan_."

Zanneth immediately pulled away, furrowing her brows. He went too far, assumed too much familiarity. "The blame won't matter if we can't get out of this wilderness," she said, putting more space between them.

Solas nodded, either not noticing or not caring for her discomfort. "That is the immediate problem. And it offers a solution that may secure your place in their hearts. You saved them at Haven. Perhaps… you can do so once more."

Zanneth furrowed her brows again. "Speak plainly."

Solas smiled slightly, nodding. "Very well. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed _you_. Scout to the north. Be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build… grow… Nestled atop a mountain surrounded by snow, it is a safe haven of temperate land waiting for us to dwell within."

"Such a place must have a name in these memories?"

Solas's hazel eyes flashed as he answered her. "Skyhold."

* * *

As Zanneth trekked back down the snow-enshrouded hill, she saw that Cassandra, Leliana, Revka, Josephine, and Cullen had drawn into a tight ball off to the side, conversing. It perplexed her. So much was happening, so many plans were being made. Where did she fit into all of it?

As she watched, Cassandra looked up, followed by the rest of the group. At some unseen signal, they all dispersed, leaving Cassandra alone, walking to meet Zanneth. The elf reached for her, unmindful of anyone who might see from a distance. Cassandra accepted it, taking Zanneth's hand and enfolding the elf within her embrace.

"How fare you, dear one?" she asked, her voice low and soft.

Zanneth felt a pleasant shiver run down her spine from Cassandra's proximity. Even with all she had been through, she desperately wished to strip Cassandra's clothes once more and forget all that had happened in the last day for a little while.

"I am fine, _ma vhenan_," she murmured. "Though I worry. Solas has an idea for leading us out of the wilderness, a fortress he has heard tell of in these mountains, but…"

She felt Cassandra nod, then part from their embrace. "Come with me," she said, keeping hold of Zanneth's hand.

"Where do we go, Cassandra?"

Rather than answering her directly, Cassandra began speaking of the Inquisition. "We have the numbers to put up a fight. A fortress we would be able to defend, especially as we recruit more to our cause. This threat is far beyond the war we anticipated when we started the Inquisition. But we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you."

Zanneth stopped, taking her hand out of Cassandra's and holding up the Anchor for them both to see. "He came for this, Cassandra. And now it is useless to him, so he wants me dead. He would go through _everyone_ to accomplish this. But that's it."

Cassandra let the Herald's frustration roll off of her, reaching out and threading her fingers through Zanneth's. The green glow of the mark was bright in the night air, shining through even Cassandra's flesh. "The Anchor has power, yes, but it's not why you're still standing here." With a light tug, she had Zanneth walking again.

"Your decisions let us heal the sky," Cassandra began, this time with a sense of urgency. "Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are that creature's rival because of what _you_ did. I heard Solona's tale. You saved her. _You_ are the hero of this tale. And we know it. All of us."

Zanneth could see now that Cassandra had a destination. Ahead, standing next to a small pile of crates, stood Leliana and Solona. Stretched between them was a black length of cloth, the heraldry of the Inquisition stitched upon it in gold. It appeared to be a banner of the Inquisition someone had taken during the hasty evacuation of Haven.

"The Inquisition needs a leader," Cassandra continued, speeding up as they got ever closer. Zanneth did not fail to notice how people were again gathering around. "The one who has _already_ been leading it."

A quiet murmur began to spread as more and more members of the Inquisition gathered, pressing closer. Cullen and Josephine, Revka and Cauthrien, could be seen among their ranks, smug smiles upon their faces. _What is going on?_

"You," Cassandra finished, coming to a halt next to the stacked crates and releasing her lover's hand.

Zanneth turned in a slow circle to see everyone staring at her. She had no idea what to say. She had been a leader in her own clan from time to time, but this was so far beyond that scope it was laughable.

She blurted the only thing she could think of. "But I'm not even human!"

Cassandra smirked. "Yes. And that perhaps makes you even more well-suited for the task than any other. You come from a place _outside_ all the politics and motivations that a human might have. Whether you believe it or not, _I_ believe that this was meant to be. That without you, there would be no Inquisition," she continued, gesturing to the symbol of the Inquisition upon the banner behind her.

Then she held her hands out, unclasping the cloak around Zanneth's shoulders and pulling it away. "What this means for the future, how you lead us; that is entirely up to you. You have earned our trust time and again, and now the entire Inquisition has faith in your ability to lead us." She next held out her hand, inviting Zanneth to climb up onto the small stack of crates.

Zanneth was quiet a moment, contemplating what this would mean. _I suppose I always knew it would come to this, from the very moment Bull suggested it._

_Very well. I will do this. But I will do it on my terms._

"This will not be about a greater message," Zanneth said, holding Cassandra's gaze. "I can't control what people believe, but I want it known that, for me, this is about the enemy we have and our need to stand together to defeat him. We'll do what's _right_. The Inquisition will leave no one behind. Every person, from every background, will be under our protection. The Inquisition will fight for _all_ of us."

Cassandra's smile appeared, so rare when others were about, and she nodded. "Wherever you lead us."

Zanneth stepped forward, climbing nimbly up to the top of the stack. As she did so, Leliana and Solona followed, halting one level below her.

Cassandra's voice rang out as the two lovers draped the heraldry of the Inquisition over Zanneth's shoulders. "Have our people been told?!" she cried, her voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. The excitement was building.

Josephine's voice answered. "They have! And soon, the world!" A surge of noise and activity followed the declaration.

Cassandra continued as Solona, taller and better able to reach, tied the banner beneath Zanneth's chin. "Commander! Will they follow?!"

Cullen's voice rang out in answer. "Inquisition! Will you follow?"

A cheer.

"Will you fight?"

A louder cheer.

"Will we triumph?"

The roar was deafening. It reached right down into Zanneth and seemed to raise her up, to wrap around her heart and inflate her with hope.

The ring of steel sliding out of its sheath sounded, and as Zanneth turned, now alone upon the crates, she saw Cullen raise his sword, pointing in her direction. Those with weapons followed suit as he cried, "Your leader! Your Herald! _Your Inquisitor!_"

Zanneth stood, tall and proud, draped in the heraldry of the Inquisition, letting the hope and faith of everyone else wash over her. They could do this. She would find their safe shelter, she would lead the Inquisition to safety, and they would defeat Corypheus.

She found Cassandra's smile, letting her gaze rest on the Seeker's dark eyes, which seemed so soft and full of love now, such a contrast for when they first met. Cassandra nodded, seeming to affirm Zanneth's inner thoughts.

Yes, they would do this. The Inquisition would triumph over all.

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

_A/N: Some quick notes. _

_1) Blackwall and Cole aren't part of the Inner Circle (yet) because they're new and not really trusted (yet). That will change later. Probably._

_2) Sorry if you like Cullen and think he's being a little too snotty. That will be a character arc thing later._

_3) My reasoning behind elven hearing and an amputation making it worse: my thoughts are that the actual, physical shape is what makes elven - and qunari - hearing so good. Much how human hearing is atrocious compared to animals, partly because of the shapes of their ears (and how you can make your hearing better by cupping your hands behind your ears to make it more directional. Anyway, the point of explaining this is that, to my mind, Zanneth's hearing will remain good until her ear physically changes - until the necrotic tissue is amputated. Just wanted to explain that._

_4) On to the epilogue!_


	48. Epilogue

_A/N: Credit where it's due. I could not have done this without Raven Sinead. She betad for me, idea-bounced for me, and in the process has become a dear friend. _

_She also wrote this ballad, which, in the context of my story, I am attributing to Leliana. Thank you, dear friend, for being so wonderfully awesome._

_Thank you to everyone for reading, for enjoying, and for giving me feedback when I need it._

* * *

_Epilogue_

Leliana retrieves pen and ink. It has been many years since she has written more than correspondence to her agents, the letters she wrote to Solona while the mage was gone on Host Holy's mission notwithstanding. But she has not _created_ anything since the end of the Blight.

Max brushes against her back as he rolls over, playing softly with Filou on his belly, who is still only half-grown. Bella keeps watch at the entrance to the tent. Outside, Solona speaks with Fiona. Cassandra took Zanneth to bed some time ago. Leliana fancies that, if she had her hearing, the soft, subtle sounds of their lovemaking would waft through the air if one were but to wander close enough to their tent.

The two of them warm her heart. They remind her of herself and Solona in their early days, and yet are so very different. They inspire her. She has loved a hero. She knows what it is to be in that situation. And they bear it… so _very_ well.

Leliana has not been inspired to create anything in a very long time. Even for the Blight she did not set pen to paper, too grief-stricken was she. She had lost her hearing during the Great Battle of the Archdemon, but what she truly grieved was the loss of dear Wynne, whose life had bought Leliana her own. She could not bear to put to words the experiences she'd had during the Blight.

But here upon this mountain, out in the snow and wilderness... _now_ she is inspired to create. And so, dipping her pen in a small, precious bottle of ink, Leliana sets pen to page and she _creates_ something to satisfy the deep need in her heart.

* * *

**O Seeker Still Seeking: The Ballad of Cassandra Pentaghast and the Herald of Andraste**

_As witnessed by_ _Leliana, Hero of the Fifth Blight and Left Hand to Divine Justinia V_

Through the black of the night and tear in the sky  
The tongue of the righteous asks questions of why.  
The Veil has been rent and the Maker undone.  
Bright servant comes seeking the light of the sun.  
O Seeker still seeking, your heartache resplendent,  
Foregoing your heartbeat in struggle transcendent.  
O Seeker still seeking for safe harbor home  
One the Maker has marked you have marked for your own.

Your once-lover fallen, your leader cast down  
the arcanists and jailers all vie for her crown  
letting red blood flow free oe'r sea and oe'r land  
lonely few still are hopeful and taking a stand.  
O Seeker still seeking, your armor is cracking,  
your heart torn asunder, your stamina lacking;  
O Seeker still seeking for dreams that have flown  
One the Maker has marked you have marked for your own.

The demon Pride screamed in the flaring green light  
causing templar and archer to flee from its sight  
still you stood daring death, daring hope, daring fate  
with the Herald in infancy locking the gate.  
O Seeker still seeking, please do not grow weary  
though bleeding and anguish make Hope's vision bleary.  
Oh Seeker still seeking, by Fate's wind now blown,  
One the Maker has marked you have marked for your own.

The Right and Left Hand, one deafened, one blind,  
to all but the world begging one strong and kind  
to tend to the wound stretched out 'cross the sky,  
hope resides in a hunter, a victim, a lie?  
O Seeker still seeking, make valid the claim  
of one who would wield great Andraste's name.  
O Seeker still seeking, the seeds have been sown,  
One the Maker has marked you have marked for your own.

You cradled the Herald so bruised battered broken,  
her body a wreck of old hatreds unspoken,  
through dark night you held her and lent her your strength;  
your heart ached with love piercing its depth and length.  
O Seeker still seeking, a mage leader coming,  
all danger and destiny, threnody thrumming.  
O Seeker still seeking, to Redcliffe's red stones,  
One the Maker has marked you have marked for your own.

In Redcliffe the sky split; the Herald did vanish,  
in red lyrium prison you suffered and languished,  
the world fallen prey to the Elder One's madness,  
all Thedas steeped deeply in bloodshed and sadness.  
O Seeker still seeking, your love is still living,  
she comes through time magic, now no more misgiving.  
O Seeker still seeking, make your true heart known,  
One the Maker has marked you have marked for your own.

With time set aright, Zanneth's spirit departed  
her grief left unspoken, your love left unstarted.  
You waited in quiet, in patience, in pain  
for her silence to break, but you waited in vain.  
O Seeker still seeking, no need now for guilt,  
She carves a blade handle, a symbolic hilt.  
O Seeker still seeking, bear a few nights alone,  
One the Maker has marked you have marked for your own.

The sage Left Hand whispered, "Claim love, hold it dear,  
seize the day, seize the moments; keep the one you love near."  
'Neath the moon did the Herald acknowledge her heart;  
seize her day and her moment, and let love's flames start.  
O Seeker still seeking, the time came to lay bare,  
your soul and your body, your spirit to share.  
O Seeker still seeking, release self, blood, and bone.  
One the Maker has marked you have marked for your own.

Then all the earth trembled; the dread Breach was sealed,  
our riven faith mended, our deepest fears healed.  
But a new terror rises, a would-be god roars,  
demolishing Haven, slamming shut new love's doors.  
O Seeker still seeking, you must leave her to fight,  
and awaken without her when dark turns to light.  
O Seeker still seeking, with heartache you groan.  
One the Maker has marked you have marked for your own.

But, lo, she was found, body cold, hard as stone,  
with your flesh you did warm her; for your absence atone.  
From death's grasp she awakened, our Herald, our Light,  
and your loving heart rested, now free from its plight.  
O Seeker still seeking, this war is not done,  
we all must keep fighting 'til all battles are won.  
O Seeker still seeking, trust in love that is shown.  
One the Maker has marked you have marked for your own.

And now we stand waiting, locked in mountains and snow,  
but let the wind batter and the elements blow.  
Our Herald shall save us and continue our mission,  
strengthened by trial and by love's sweet admission.  
O Seeker still seeking, embrace this tribulation  
made sweeter by faith and love's transmutation.  
O Seeker cease seeking for safe harbor home,  
One the Maker has marked claims your heart as her own.


End file.
